


My Hope in your Hands

by Eldalire



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-15 05:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eldalire/pseuds/Eldalire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a tragedy in Gondor, Aragorn's only son is sent to live with his dearest friend, and the only one he can trust with his child: Legolas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ill News from the White City

Though the sun was shaded, the day was not especially bleak. Mirkwood was still peacefully subdued, without so much as a rustle of the leaves, though the clouds held the promise of rain, as it had the evening before. A mist had settled over the world, and even with the eyes of an Elf, Legolas couldn’t see much past the first few trees in front of him. Even though the visibility was less than pristine, the Elf quite enjoyed this type of weather, when the dew settled and sparkled on the flora of his beautiful green wood.

The young prince smiled, breathing in the cool, fresh air. Last night’s rain had cleansed the land of the oppressive heat, which Legolas was glad for. Mirkwood could be sticky and uncomfortable in the summer, and Legolas much preferred the springtime breezes. He was pleased that the heat had been repressed and that his long, slivery-blonde hair was no longer perpetually stuck to the back of his neck.

It had been almost ten years since he had returned home from his long journey with the Fellowship, though it felt like the blink of an eye. Years passed like water down a swiftly flowing river for Elves, and he was much the same as he had been a decade earlier, though his friends had grown older. Samwise had gone from hardly a man to a middle-aged farmer, caring for his children and his wife. Merry and Pippin, too, had grown up far too quickly. Gimli’s long beard was thinning, and the reddish curls on his head receded more and more every time Legolas saw him. Aragorn was perhaps the most changed, however. His once dark, shining hair was dull and graying. His face was lined with the struggles and stresses of being the King of the greatest kingdom of Men. He often seemed tired and exasperated, and it pained Legolas to see him in such a state. Even so, the man had seemed in high spirits when he had come to visit with the rest of the remaining members of the Fellowship, and was happy to announce that he was the father of a son, the next heir to the throne.

Legolas smiled thinking about his friends, particularly Aragorn. He had been very close to the man on their journey, and they both found great comfort in each other during the most trying times. Legolas still considered Aragorn his very closest friend, even though he had met so many in his long years in Middle-Earth. He decided he would write to the man as soon as he returned to the palace, just to say hello, and to wish his son, Estel, a happy birthday, for he was just shy of his tenth year.

As the prince sat in one of the many platforms among the trees, he smiled, remembering when Aragorn himself was called Estel. Legolas had known him then, when he was small, and felt almost like a proud father, watching the boy grow into a man; into a king. He had taught Aragorn the ways of the forest: how to track, the best way to build a fire, how to hunt, and how to ride a horse, but perhaps the greatest gift Legolas had given him was the art of archery. Though Legolas was skilled in many areas, he was legendary with a bow, even among his own people. He remembered vividly how frustrated little Aragorn had been when he couldn’t seem to find his mark, as well as how pleased he was when he hit his first bulls-eye. He remembered embracing the little boy after his triumph, so proud that his student had succeeded. It was strange to think about how Aragorn had changed so significantly in the past ninety years, when Legolas had stayed the same, forever still in time: ever youthful, never aging. He remembered when he and Aragorn appeared the same age. When Aragorn was in his twenties and thirties, he could have convinced anyone he was elfkind, with his fair features and mannerisms. Not ten years after his thirtieth year, though, there was no mistaking that he was a Man. He had aged. His face was no longer smooth and carefree; it was creased with age and worry, like a wrinkled map that had seen one too many adventures. His eyes weren’t as bright, and had continued to fade as the years passed. 

It pained the Elf to watch his greatest companion withering slowly with age, but he knew that everything faded in time, and that Aragorn was no different. He had watched many friends fade and wither throughout the ages, whether they were men or Elves stricken with grief over the loss of a wife or child. They all faded away, and he could not linger on the thought.

—o0o—

When Legolas returned to the palace, he was surprised to see his father sitting in the foyer with a messenger. Rarely were messages so important that the King was called from his duties, and this planted a seed of worry in the prince. He glided to his father’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Atar—” he stopped as his father turned to face him, the prince’s light eyes widening when he saw the tears glittering on his father’s eyelashes.

“Atar what’s happened?” Legolas asked, concerned. It took quite a blow to cause an Elf to weep openly, especially Thranduil. Legolas had always known his father to be strong and stern, rarely showing emotion publicly, yet here he sat, tears in his deep blue eyes.

“You are dismissed…” Thranduil said quietly to the messenger, a young Elf with bright, downcast eyes, only a child.

“Yes, your Highness…” he cooed quietly, walking swiftly from the parlor, leaving the King alone with his only son.

“Sit.” He said dully to Legolas, guiding his son down onto one of the many chairs by his thin shoulder. 

“Atar what’s going on? What has upset you so?” he asked, sitting at the very edge of the seat, worry evident in his porcelain face.

“Ill news from the White City.” Thranduil replied, brushing the tears away from his eyes before they could escape down his cheeks. Legolas’ mind immediately flashed to Minas Tirith: to Arwen, to Estel, to Aragorn.

“What has happened? Is Aragorn alright?”

“I’m afraid not…He has been killed…” Legolas’ heart felt strangled, choked in his chest, as if he had been stabbed. He felt the sting behind his bright blue eyes, the burn in his throat, promising tears.

“What…How?” he asked, sitting back in his chair, utterly defeated. He felt as if he might be sick, a sensation he had not felt since he was much younger, after his mother’s passing.

“It seems that history is repeating itself, Legolas. Arwen was not spared either.”

“What of Estel?” Legolas asked, letting tears flood down his face, turning his pale cheeks a raw red.

“He has been badly wounded, but he is alive…that was what the message was concerning…Aragorn’s final wish was that he be sent to stay with you.” Thranduil smiled slightly, sadly, and wiped away his son’s tears with his thumb. “Do not weep. This is a joyous occasion. There is going to be a child living in our Forest, another life to love and care for.”

“I-I cannot…I could not care for the child…I am not fit to be a father—”

“Hush.” Thranduil said with another smile. “You will be a wonderful father, iôn nín, and I will always be here to help.” He said, taking his son’s hand and standing, embracing Legolas, kissing his forehead the way he had since the prince was small.

“When will he be here?” Legolas asked, looking up at his father, for he was nearly a head shorter than the King.

“Within a fortnight. He is not fit for travel now, but once Elrond’s healed him as best he can, he’s coming straight here.”

“I suppose we’ll have to have things readied for him, then.” Legolas said with a meek smile.


	2. Two

Eight days later, Legolas sat silently in a flet near the border of the Woodland realm. A message had been delivered the day before stating that the boy would be arriving within the next two days, and Legolas did not want to leave him waiting and frightened at the edge of the wood.

The prince leaned against the trunk of the tree, speaking with the guards and scouts who watched the border daily, all of them eager to meet little Estel, all of them comforting Legolas who still grieved for the loss of Aragorn and Arwen. The grief of Elves was deep and enveloping, flooding their very souls. When the sorrow became too great to bear, an Elf would begin to fade, and without aid, would pass. There was not much worry in the case of Legolas, for he had been through the loss of a friend many times, but none of his people wished to see their prince upset, and many of the scouts were his friends. They hoped to brighten his spirits before Estel arrived.

At around midday, a horn blew in the distance: three trumpets reverberated through the treetops.

“He has reached the boarder.” One of the scouts, a young Elf called Amrod announced, standing on the wooden platform and pressing his own horn to his lips, sending forth one long trumpet in reply.

“Shall we go and meet him, Legolas?” Another guard, one Legolas had known since childhood, asked.

“No, Gildor. We will wait here. I do not want to overwhelm him. I’m sure he is frightened.” The prince answered, though he felt his heart leap in anticipation, and hung his long, lithe legs over the side of the flet, looing down to the forest floor some thirty feet below.

“Elladan came by yesterday, scouting for Estel’s company. He said the boy was excited to be coming.” Amrod said with a smile, sitting next to the prince, his legs crossed, his bow laid down on the flet next to him. Legolas had taught Amrod to shoot when he was small, for Amrod was still a child in the eyes of the Elves, appearing sixteen or seventeen to the eyes of a man. Legolas smiled.

“Did he bring other tidings?” he asked. Gildor crouched behind the two, placing a hand on Legolas’ shoulder to listen to the conversation, equally as curious about the boy. Nothing like this had happened in Mirkwood for as long as anyone could remember, which meant it probably hadn’t happened before.

“Well…” Amrod continued, an undertone of worry evident in his lark-like voice. “He said he’s been badly hurt…but he would not say in what way.”

“I do hope he’s alright.” Gildor stated, casting his eyes down.

“As do I.” Legolas said, sitting quietly, watching the ground far below. It was not long before the sound of hooves and chatter of men and elves became evident to Legolas’ sensitive ears.

“They’re here!” Amrod exclaimed, jumping off of the platform and leaping from one limb to the next, lower and lower, until his feet touched down soundlessly on the leafy forest floor. Legolas was quick to follow, searching for the silver circlet he had taken off while sitting on the flet. Estel hadn’t met Legolas, at least not recently enough to remember him, and he wanted the boy to know who he was. All the boy knew was that Legolas was a prince and that he was one of his father’s good friends, nothing more. Legolas replaced the crown carefully before leaping from the flet and landing gracefully on the ground without so much as a scuff on his boots. Moments later, the parade rounded the corner, Estel riding out in front, sitting with Elrohir on a white horse. Legolas smiled at the child, his heartstrings gently strummed by the likeness the boy had to Aragorn. His eyes were bright and blue; identical to the man Legolas had spent so much of his life with. The boy’s hair was a deep, dark brown with just a bit of a wave, again, just like Aragorn’s. His hair stopped at his slender, but strong, shoulders. The boy was clearly more Elf than Man. Even his ears were ever so slightly pointed, for Aragorn had elfish ancestry, and together with Arwen’s highelven blood, he was something of a three-quarter Elf, and it showed. He wasn’t as clumsy in his appearance as other Men, and his eyes were not as dull and preoccupied. He was a beautiful child, a pristine, living memory of Arwen and Aragorn.

The boy smiled when his eyes met Legolas for the first time. The Elf returned the smile and walked to the horse the boy was sharing with Elrohir. He sat in front of Elrond’s son, with the Elf’s strong arms on either side of him, steering the horse.

“Hello, Estel.” Legolas said, offering the boy his hand. He took it and shook, grinning from ear to ear.

“Are you the prince?” he asked, his voice frothy and light, the voice of childhood.

“I am. And I am pleased to say that you will be staying with me in the palace.” Legolas replied, his eyes bright.

“He’s done nothing but speak of you since we left Imladris. He’s been asking so many questions about you.”

“I wanted to know.” The little boy said with a nervous smile, his fair face turning a rosy shade of pink. Legolas smiled and laughed lightly at the boy’s awkwardness.

“That’s alright, Estel. I’d be happy to answer your remaining questions, if Elrohir’s responses were not to your satisfaction.” The boy smiled and sighed, his eyes fluttering, hanging half open. He leaned back against Elrohir’s chest, obviously very tired, from travel or his injuries Legolas was not sure, though he had not yet seen any sign of struggle or wounds on the boy.

“Come, your Highness. Have my horse. We shall ride back together.” An Elf called Tuor, named after the father of Eärendil, said, dismounting his own grey steed and offering the reigns to Legolas.

“I will walk back.” The prince answered, for he would have felt guilty taking another’s horse, forcing them to walk. “I could not force you from your steed.”

“Nay, your Highness. Larkin will carry us both. He is a strong steed, and has carried far heavier than the likes of you.” Tuor laughed. Legolas smiled and mounted the horse behind him, waving to Amrod as he swung back up into the treetops. Gildor also gave a wave from the flet high in the tree.

—o0o—

The party arrived at the palace gates shortly, where Thranduil was waiting happily. The King approached Elrohir’s horse and offered the little boy his hand.

“We are quite happy to have you here, Estel. You look just like your Papa.” Thranduil said with a smile, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind the boy’s ear.

“And you look like Prince Legolas.” Estel smiled as Legolas dismounted Tuor’s horse.

“I think it may be the other way around, Estel. Lord Thranduil is far older than I.” Legolas noted, offering the boy a hand to aid him off of the high horse. He looked at Legolas, a look of fear and minor embarrassment in his bright eyes. Legolas’ smile vanished. Elrohir, noting the boy’s awkwardness, dismounted first and lifted the boy up under the arms and placing him down gently on the ground. The boy crossed his arms over his chest and stood quietly. Legolas feared he had offended the child somehow, and worried that Estel would not warm up to him. Elrohir placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and looked down to him.

“You’re going to have to show them at some point, Estel. Do not be afraid.” Elrohir said to him quietly, taking the boy’s left arm and coaxing him to uncross it. Legolas watched from a bit of a distance, curious, but staying away. He did not want to crowd the boy, and certainly did not want to make him nervous. He already seemed tearful as Elrohir knelt down in front of him, speaking to him softly and kindly. Eventually the boy nodded, letting Elrohir wipe away his tears. Estel uncrossed his arms, but held his left elbow in his right hand, still attempting to hide his flaw. It was then that Legolas became aware of what had happened. Estel had in fact been badly wounded in a very permanent way. His lower left arm was missing from about four inches below his elbow. Legolas hadn’t noticed, for he hadn’t been facing the boy’s left side when he was on the horse with Elrohir, and Estel hid it well. His long, silvery sleeves, characteristic of the clothing from Imladris, covered his flaw almost perfectly, for the opposite sleeve almost covered his intact hand completely.

Legolas looked down briefly, unsure what to say. His mind raced, thinking of all of the things Estel would not be able to do. He would never climb trees with the other Elfish children. He could not tie his shoes or play ball or swing from the low branches on the paths in the woods. He could not shoot a bow.

“That’s quite alright, Estel.” Legolas said after a brief silence. “It is not noticeable at all.” He smiled, approaching the boy and taking his hand. “Would you like to see your bedroom?” the prince asked, changing the subject as best he could. Estel nodded and smiled, sniffling away the last bit of his tears. Thranduil tended to the rest of the party, welcoming them through the gate and out into the back gardens where food and drink had been laid out for them. They were expected to stay for at least a day to rest and recover before returning to Imladris. Legolas held open the heavy palace door for the little boy, who looked up in awe at the high ceilings and raw wood arches, bringing the beauty of the forest inside.

“It is very pretty here.” Estel said, his eyes wandering here and there, resting for a few moments on the massive pair of antlers that sat above Thranduil’s throne.

“I am very glad you think so. We’ve been preparing for your arrival for some time now.” Legolas explained, continuing through the throne room, down a long corridor, and finally onto the central staircase, which spiraled up inside of a large tree trunk. All of the upper rooms could be reached from that single spiraling staircase. Estel’s bedroom was at the very top of the staircase, in the same wing as Thranduil and Legolas’ bedchambers. 

“I was nervous that you wouldn’t like me…” Estel admitted as they reached the top of the stairs.

“And why would you fear that?” Legolas asked, sitting at the top of the stairs, noticing how taxing the climb had been on the little boy. He was out of breath and tired from the climb. His recent injury did not help matters. He was still very pale and thinner than he should have been.

“My Papa always said that he would send me here to learn to shoot a bow like you…but now I can’t…” he said, casting his eyes down to his lap, rubbing at the clean cloth bandages that were wrapped around his wound.

“Not to worry, Estel. I’m sure you’re very good at other things. Shooting with a pang is not the only skill I value.” Legolas said with a smile. “I hear you are a very talented artist.”

“I like drawing pictures…I’m not sure if I’m very good at it, though…”

“I’ve had a desk put in your room with lots of pens and inks of all colors and sizes. Pencils and rubbers as well.”

“Really?” Estel mused, looking up with a bright smile, his eyes shining.

“Yes really. I’ve arranged for a peacock feather quill as well. A little bird told me you’ve been asking for one.” Legolas added, standing and holding the door to the long hallway. The little boy smiled, overjoyed.

At that point, the tall tree trunk opened up into the main palace, which was all of wood and logs, with wide windows that let in the dewy morning light.

“You can see everything from up here!” he cooed, leaning on one of the windowsills, looking out over Mirkwood.

“If you look out to the East, you can see Erebor and the Lonely Mountain, the greatest kingdom of the dwarves.” Legolas said, kneeling down behind the boy and pointing in the direction of the distant mountain. “Can you see it?”

“Yes! Legolas, could we go there someday?”

“If you’d like. I have a dear friend who could accompany us.”

“Gimli? Papa told me about him.”

“Yes. He is a very close friend of mine. But come, I want you to see your bedroom! I’ve worked all week to make it perfect for you.” Legolas smiled as he stood up, taking the boy’s hand and leading him the short distance down the hall.

The door to the boy’s room was not a door at all, but a thick woven tapestry of blue, green, and silver that could be pulled back and tied at the side of the door. The room was large, but not so large as to be stark and uninviting, with large windows that looked out over the Woodland Realm. The bed was large and cozy, pushed into the far corner under the pitch of the roof, a sheer curtain hanging from the ceiling to enclose the quiet corner. The bed was piled with cozy feather blankets of the most beautiful raw silk, and pillows of every size and shape were stacked high against the wall, creating a sort of nest, perfectly sized for Estel’s little body. The boy’s trunk had already been brought up to the room, and his favorite stuffed thing, a little bear that had belonged to Aragorn, sat silently and contented on the bed, smiling up at the child as he admired his new living arrangements. 

Just next to the foot of the bed was a large desk that curved around the corner of the room, complete with drawers and shelves, all of them filled with all the materials the boy could ever want: paper ranging from tissue-thin to canvas board, pencils of different weight and color, ink, pens in all sizes, watercolor paints, oil paints, a small figure with moveable joints to draw from, and the skull of a young buck filled the nooks and crannies, as well as numerous other objects, all of it prompting a smile from the little boy. His eyes flashed, filled with a creative, blue fire that he could hardly contain.

“This is all just for me?” he asked, looking around the room, down to the woven carpet and all the way up to the cluster of sparkling lanterns that covered the majority of the ceiling. He walked to the window and ran the light, cotton curtains through his hand, admiring the view briefly before returning his attention to his desk. He sat in the cushioned chair, pulled his knees up to his chest, and smiled at Legolas.

“Of course. I want you to be happy here.” The Elf replied, sitting on the footboard of the bed. The boy suddenly leapt from the chair and flung himself at Legolas, knocking him backwards and onto the bed, Estel hugging him around his chest. Legolas laughed brightly, something he hadn’t done since news of his friends’ death, and ran his thin hand through the boy’s dark, wavy hair.

“Thank you. I am happy to be here, if I cannot be with my Mama and Papa.” He chuckled lightly. “I did not think Elves could fall down so easily.” He added, looking up at Legolas.

“And I did not think that little boys had so much strength.” He replied, propping himself up on his elbows.


	3. Three

Legolas sat with the little boy on his bed, Estel laying on his pillow all curled in a ball.

“Legolas?”

“Yes?” he replied, running his hand up and down the child’s side, scratching gently at his ribcage. Estel was very thin, too thin, and his skin was a pale ivory. He appeared very sickly, but Legolas was sure it was just from his injury and the long journey. It was nearly a seven day ride, with no stops and a fast horse, from the White City to Imladris, and from there, another three days to Mirkwood. His injury was also of a very sensitive nature. He had probably gone into shock when he saw what had happened to himself, and was most likely in an immense amount of pain. He had lost a great deal of blood as well, which could not be replaced so easily. The child had indeed endured many hardships in the past fortnight.

“What would you like me to call you?” he asked quietly, his eyes fluttering shut. Though it was only an hour past midday, the child was sleepy, near exhaustion from his strenuous journey. Legolas had no doubt that Elrond had also given him something before the trip to ease his pain, which could also account for his sleepiness.

Legolas’ hand stilled for a moment on the boy’s side as he thought deeply and briefly. He hadn’t thought about what the child would call him. Should Estel call him father? Was papa acceptable so soon after his father’s death?

“Atar, I suppose. Or whatever you’d like.” He replied after a short moment of silence.

“Atar means father, though…You would like me to call you father?” Estel asked, his bright blue eyes flashing open momentarily, looking at Legolas with a curious glimmer in his gaze.

“If you’d like.” Legolas said with a smile.

“I think I would like that.” The little boy replied, gently shutting his eyes, his long eyelashes resting on his cheeks like the wings of a bird at rest. Legolas continued to scratch his back, being careful not to disturb his wound, and watched him quietly for a long while. After a bit, Legolas stood up from the bed and walked to the door, reluctant to leave the boy’s side, but he had much to ask Elladan and Elrohir, and Estel needed his rest. The prince carefully untied the curtain at the door and let it swing over the doorway behind him. He then walked swiftly down the short hall and back to the large spiraling staircase. He made quick work of the steps and left the palace, rounding the corner to where his father and their guests were sitting on the veranda, enjoying a spread of light fares before dinner.

When Legolas stepped onto the stone terrace, the entire company stood at attention out of respect for the prince. Legolas gave a quiet nod and a smile, prompting everyone to sit and continue. It made him horribly uncomfortable when everyone was standing and staring for him. These people were his friends, his kin, and he did not view them as inferiors. Most of his subjects knew this, and many bowed and stood out of true respect for the prince, not only as their ruler, but also as their friend.

“Where has Estel gone to?” one of the company, an Elf who had ridden from Imladris, asked.

“He’s fallen asleep.” The prince replied with a smile. “He seemed rather exhausted, actually.”

“Adar instructed us to give him him a hefty dose of a painkiller once a day.” Elladan noted.

“It makes him very tired, though.” Elrohir added, sipping at a goblet of deep red wine. “He’s been in quite a bit of pain, though, the poor thing. He’s so little yet.” Legolas cast his eyes down, his heart heavy with the strain of imagining that sweet little boy, writhing in pain and having to endure so much hurt in such a short amount of time.

“He seems remarkably cheerful.” Thranduil noted with a smile, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, sitting him down at one of the many tables on the veranda, across from Elrohir and Elladan.

“He is rather excitable, actually.” Elladan said, running his thin fingers along the rim of his goblet, creating a shining reverberation in the crystal glass. “He is always so bright and cheerful, even in the most trying of times.”

“He has been pleasant, to say the least. Very polite and well behaved.” Legolas said with a smile.

“He was thrilled when he heard hew as coming to stay here. He said that he remembered you from when he was small, and that if he could not be with his mother and father, that he wanted to be with you.” Elladan cooed, showing off his crooked grin. That was one of the only ways the twins could be told apart physically. Elladan had the crooked smile, and Elrohir always raised his eyebrows when he was speaking. They were very different in other aspects, though. Elrohir was far more subdued that his brother, with a silent demeanor and a quiet soul. He did not speak often, but was very kind and loving. Elladan, too, was friendly, but could be a bit overbearing after a while. Legolas loved both of them dearly.

“He remembered me? But the only time we met before today was when he was only two years old. His tenth birthday is just a few days away, is it not?” Legolas noted, surprised that the boy remembered him from so long ago.

“I was rather surprised as well, but he knew exactly who you were. He remembered your blonde hair.” Elrohir said with a smile. Elladan laughed.

“Blonde hair is a rarity among the citizens of Gondor! You may be the only light head he’s ever seen!” Elladan added. Legolas smiled.

“He asked many questions of you on the way from Imladris.” Elrohir began, taking an apple from the bowl in the center of the table, slicing it in careful wedges with the knife he kept at his side.

“And what did he ask?” Thranduil asked, looking to Elrohir.

“He asked many childish questions. He was quite intent on knowing what your hobbies are, Legolas. He was pleased to hear that you quite enjoy painting. Estel is a beautiful artist.” Elrohir explained. “He was also curious as to what your favorite foods and colors are, as well as your favorite animal. I told him that your favorite color was blue and that you quite enjoy listening to the birds.” He continued with a laugh.

“I suppose that’s right.” Legolas said, grinning at the boy’s naiveté.

Has he been asleep long?” Elrohir asked, searching his cloak for a pouch of medicinal herbs his father had given him to tend to Estel’s wounds. Though both of the twins were formidable fighters, Elrohir was well versed in medicine and healing, much like his father, and had been sent to care for the boy, as well as instruct Legolas on how to tend to Estel.

“Maybe an hour now. Why do you ask?” Legolas inquired quietly, worried for the child. He hoped he hadn’t done anything wrong in letting the boy fall asleep.

“His wound needs tending to. The bandage must be changed at least once a day, and we missed yesterday.”

“Ah I see…Could I join you? I would like to learn how to care for him properly. I do not want to hurt him.”

“Oh he will let out quite a shout—” Elladan began, stopping short when Elrohir kicked him hard under the table and shot him a glare that could kill.

“It is quite painful for him yet.” Elrohir explained in a more appropriate fashion. “Would you show me to his chamber so I might tend the wound while he’s still sleepy? It may lessen the pain for him.”

“Yes of course.” Legolas said, standing up from his place at the table. He showed Elrohir to Estel’s room, pulling back the curtain slowly and peering into the boy’s sunlit quarters. Elrohir’s light footsteps made no sound on the wooden floor as he approached the bedside. Legolas perched quietly on the desk chair, watching in mild fear as Elrohir gently pushed up Estel’s sleeve, revealing his true wound for the first time. 

Legolas felt his heart drop into his stomach when he saw what was left of the poor child’s arm. From the middle of his upper arm all the way down to where his arm ended just below the elbow was wrapped tightly in white cloth bandages, stained a pale pink from the boy’s wounds. The elf brushed his long, chestnut hair off of his face and behind his pointed ear so as not to obstruct his vision. Legolas watched intently, wincing as Elrohir began unwrapping what was left of Estel’s arm. It did not take long for the boy to stir.

“Is he in pain?” Legolas asked as Estel began to mumble, tossing from side to side. Elrohir held fast to the child’s skinny arm to keep it still as he unwrapped the last of the bandages, revealing the end of his ruined arm. Legolas cringed seeing such an excessive wound on such a small, innocent child. Whoever had done this to him was truly ruthless and heartless. Estel had done nothing to deserve his crippling injury.

No sooner had Elrohir removed the last of the bandages, Estel’s bright eyes shot open, a searing pain evident in his twisted expression. He writhed, arching his back, and screamed deafeningly.

“Hush! Estel, the sooner you lay still, the sooner I will be finished!” Elrohir called above the boy’s shouts. Legolas’ heard wrenched watching his little body contort in agony, and carefully leapt over the footboard to sit next to the child. He took Estel’s hand in his own and held it tight, his free hand brushing stray hair out of his eyes.

“You’re alright. Everything will be alright.” The prince cooed as Estel sobbed, tears irritating his blue eyes, his cheeks turning a raw shade of reddish pink. Elrohir quickly and carefully wiped down the wound with a clean cloth soaked in alcohol, which also caused the boy much distress. The pain subsided quickly, however, when Elrohir slathered a thick, clear substance over the end of the boy’s ruined arm and wrapped it again with new cloth. Estel’s breath immediately came easier, and he closed his eyes again with a sigh. Legolas, too, released a breath he did not know he was holding.

“Does that feel alright? Not too tight?” Elrohir asked, pulling the boy’s sleeve down again, covering the injury. Estel nodded, wiping his eyes with his fisted hand balled up in his sleeve. “I am sorry it has been so painful.”

“S-sorry I am not v-very good at holding s-still-l.” the child stammered in reply, smiling meekly as the last of his tears subsided.

“You’ve been very brave, my little friend.” Legolas praised, taking the child in his arms and holding him close, happy he was no longer in such pain.

“Tomorrow will be the last day with a bandage, I think.” Elrohir said quietly with a smile. “You are healing quite nicely. The wound should be closed by tomorrow and you will no longer have to wrap it.” Estel sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve, but smiled, nonetheless.

“Uncle Elrohir?” the child asked after a moment, resting his head back down on his pillow.

“Yes, Estel?” He replied. Legolas couldn’t help but wonder why he had asked for Elrohir instead of him. He knew that the boy was not well acquainted with him, but already the Elf had begun to feel a connection with Estel. Though Legolas doubted he was ready to be a father, his entire being was suddenly no longer concerned with its own life, but with Estel’s. It was a strange sensation, and he wasn’t sure if it was quite justified just yet.

“Could I go to sleep again?”

“I think you should have something to eat first. You’ve hardly eaten since we left Imladris.” Elrohir answered, placing all of his medicinal materials back into the pouch he carried at his side. “I do not want you to fall ill from lack of sustenance.”

“I am not very hungry now, though…”

“You are very weak. I think something small will do you well. Legolas, could we arrange for toast and honey?”

“Yes of course.” The prince said, standing quietly, hurriedly, and pushing aside the curtain door. He called to one of the royal guards who were set at the beginning of the hall.

“Lindir, would you fetch Estel toast and honey from the kitchen?” the prince asked, kindly with a meek smile. He was not fond of giving orders, and usually asked rather then told. Lindir smiled warmly.

“Yes of course.” He said as he began to trot down the stairs. He turned back suddenly, however, just before his head bobbed below the upper floor level. “Your Highness, you father asked to speak with you when you were free.” Legolas nodded, unsure of what his father wanted to speak with him about. Surely it had something to do with the boy, but nothing had gone ill since he had arrived, and Legolas was getting along quite well with Elrohir’s help and the bright, welcoming spirits of the people around him. Even so, he peeked back into Estel’s room and told Elrohir his father had requested his company. Estel gave a weak wave of his hand and smiled as Legolas left.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel so horribly mean for putting little Estel through all of this! But not to worry! This story will get much happier as it progresses!

The prince found his father in his bedchamber, reading a book in the corner near the large window that overlooked the kingdom. Thranduil quite enjoyed reading, particularly the age-old books of Men. Men carried such worrisome troubles and lived such short, stressful lives, and Thranduil found it exceeding interesting to read of their struggles, awestruck at their hope and perseverance even in the most difficult of times. The book he was reading was actually one Aragorn had gifted to him from the expansive library of Minas Tirith, for the Elven King had started the book long ago during Aragorn’s coronation, and hadn’t finished it. Just weeks later it arrived with a messenger so that Thranduil might finish it.

“Atar?” Legolas cooed from his father’s doorway, doing his best to avoid a startle. Thranduil cast his smoky eyes up from his reading and smiled at his son.

“Come in, iôn nín.” He said, briefly indicating the chair just across from his own. Legolas sat down quietly, placing his hands on his thin, girlish knees. Legolas was very lithe and thin, as most Elves are, and could probably have been mistaken for a young maiden from a Man’s perspective. His face was smooth and hairless; his complexion was pale from living his life under the shade of Mirkwood’s canopy.

“How is the child faring?” the king asked, crossing his legs and placing his hands in his lap, much in the same fashion as Legolas. The Prince and the King were very much alike in both looks and mannerisms, though Legolas was clearly younger, more naïve and less experienced in the ways of the world. Though he was well over 1,000 years old, he was still only a young man to his people, and behaved as such. Elves matured slowly both in body and mind, and Legolas had not yet reached his prime. Thranduil, on the other hand, was quite adult, well educated in the arts as well as strategy in war and pursuit. He ruled with a kind but strict hand, and was well liked as well as respected by his subjects. Legolas only hoped he would be able to upkeep his father’s standards when he himself was king.

“Estel is doing well, to my eyes, anyway. Elrohir just tended his wound which proved painful, but he is very resilient and optimistic.” The prince said with a smile.

“I am glad to see that you are not disappointed…” Thranduil stated, closing his book and placing it on the windowsill. Legolas raised an eyebrow, a glimmer of suspicion darting through his light eyes.

“What do you mean, Atar?” he asked, brushing the curtain of golden hair off of his face.

“He is not…like other children. He will have many hardships in his life and will, without a doubt, be frustrated often. He will never be like you.” Thranduil explained, doing his best to bring the subject about gently. Legolas understood and cast his eyes down briefly.

“That is not a reason to be disappointed. He is a good boy. His ill fortune is no fault of his own.”

“I am glad to hear you say that, my son. I only hope that his troubles will not affect your spirit. I do not wish to see you fall into despair for his sake. That has been my worry all along, since I received news of his injury.”

“You knew prior to his arrival?” Legolas asked, an undertone of suspicion in his voice.

“I did.” Thranduil admitted, casting his eyes down in partial disappointment in himself. He had only kept the truth from Legolas to protect him, to keep the burden of worry from his son.

“Why did you not tell me?” the prince asked, suddenly finding his lap very interesting. He wound his fingers absently through the slippery material of his tunic, picking at the many glass beads that resided on the hems.

“I did not want to worry you…I also did not want you to refuse the child.”

“Do you believe I would have turned him away?” Legolas asked, a bit of a bite and an undertone of anger in his birdlike voice. “Did you believe me to be so petty as to refuse the child?”

“I did not…Not truly…But the thought did cross my mind. You are young yet, Legolas, and I knew that Estel would be unable to partake in so many of the things you enjoy doing. He would change your life drastically, more so than an unmarred child.” The King admitted with a long sigh, keeping his voice even and controlled in an effort to keep his son’s emotions in check. Though Elves showed little emotion, Legolas was known to become argumentative in the face of a situation he felt was unjust. It usually worked to his advantage: calling off aimless arguments during councils and even breaking up fights started by children in the street, but it could also work against him, causing him to flair up into fiery passion and become irrational. He did no such thing then, though, and only nodded in understanding, deciding his father’s reasons were justified and logical.

“You are right, Atar…To be truthful, I was wrongly disappointed when I realized that he would never be able to swing a sword or shoot a pang…But I see now that he is worth so much more.” Thranduil smiled, pleased and proud of his only son. The Elf king couldn’t help but imagine Legolas in Estel’s shoes. Thranduil would be distraught if his single child was physically marred beyond repair, and was almost glad that Aragorn and Arwen were no longer living to see him in such a state. Surely they both would have been overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation: Thranduil knew he would be, if he were in their place.

“You are very gallant indeed. I am proud to be your father.” Legolas smiled. Thranduil was not easy to please. It really wasn’t easy to prompt any outward emotion or praise from, adding significance to that moment in Legolas’ life. Only a few times had Thranduil stated outwardly that he was proud of his son. Legolas knew that his father valued him and that he loved and was proud of him, but he did not say it outright unless he could no longer contain himself and had to state his mind. The last time Thranduil had congratulated him was when he returned from his quest for the Ring, and before that, he couldn’t remember.

“Thank you, Atar.” Legolas cooed modestly, bowing his head to his father’s authority. Thranduil smiled.

“Is the boy awake?” the king asked, standing silently from his chair.

“Yes. Elrohir said he should eat something. His toast has probably arrived.” He answered with a smile.

“Might I see him? I much desire to acquaint myself.”

“Yes of course. May I warn you, though; he will probably shower you with questions. He’s a curious little thing.” Legolas warned, walking the short distance down the hall and back to Estel’s room, pushing aside the curtain in the doorway and holding it back for his father. Elrohir stood and bowed when Thranduil appeared in the doorway. Estel stopped eating, unsure of what was proper to do in the presence of such nobility. Back at home, Estel was part of the royal family. Many citizens bowed in his presence, but he was not sure what to do on the other end of the spectrum. He decided it would be best to sit up and bow his head, the dark curtain of his wavy hair shrouding his near-pristine face.

“Please lay down, Estel.” Thranduil said as he approached the bed. “You are a part of my family now. You need not bow.” The little boy smiled, pushing his shoulder-length tresses behind his ears. Elrohir sat back down at his side, tearing off small pieces of toast and handing them to Estel, who ate tentatively and slowly, mumbling and protesting often.

“Please, Uncle Elrohir, I do not want any more.” He muttered against his pillow, snuggling up with his stuffed bear. His bright eyes glimmered with the promise of tears.

“Estel you’ve hardly eaten a quarter of a slice. I’d like you to eat at the very least half.”

“But I am not hungry. Please do not make me.” He pleaded. Elrohir sighed, guilty for making the child beg to be left alone. He placed the dish down onto Estel’s night table.

“Alright. I suppose that’s enough for now…” the elf smiled weakly, adjusting Estel’s pillow under his head. He was nearly asleep now, his eyelids hanging half open, his blue eyes fogged by grogginess. Elrohir stood and walked to the doorway.

“I am going to join my kinsmen in the garden, if that suits you, Sir.” He said to Thranduil, who nodded in approval.

“I’ve arranged for beds for all of you as well. You may retire if you are weary.” Thranduil added with a smile. 

“Thank you, Sir.” Elrohir said before taking his leave. Legolas sat on the footboard of Estel’s bed, his feet on the mattress, looking down upon the child, at his even, long breaths, at the slight, continuous tapping dance his foot repeated over and over, and his eyes as they fluttered like butterflies’ wings. Thranduil dragged the chair out from under Estel’s desk and sat at his bedside, placing his elbow down on the nightstand. 

“How are you faring? Is everything satisfactory thus far?” the king asked. The little boy nodded slowly in reply, a small, sleepy smile playing across his face.

“I am very happy here. Thank you, Sir. Atar has been very good to me today.” Thranduil bowed his eyebrows, unsure for a moment of whom the child was referring to. He looked to Legolas, who only smiled and gave a little wave of his thin, lithe hand, indicating himself as ‘Atar’. Thranduil grinned.

“He is quite lovely, isn’t he?” Thranduil continued, speaking as if Legolas was not present. Legolas stifled a laugh. He did not think himself lovely at all. He was pale and relatively scrawny compared to some of the other Elves of his age. His only real talent was shooting with a bow and arrows, and maybe painting, if he was in the mood. He did little that he saw as lovely, though he did suppose all Elves seemed to have an heir of ‘loveliness’ about them in the eyes of a Man.

“Yes, Sir.” Estel agreed, sitting up and crossing his legs, using his left shoulder to scratch at his nose, for that arm was no longer with hand, and his right was occupied with his stuffed thing. Thranduil smiled. “Atar said that he would take me to see Erebor, when I was feeling better. Could we make a tree house as well?” he asked, looking to Legolas.

“You are in one now, Estel.” He replied with a grin. The little boy cast his eyes down in thought for a moment before smiling.

“yes you’re right! But could we make one in a smaller tree, like those platforms all of the archers stand on?” he was referring to a flet.

“I don’t see why not.” Legolas said with a smile. He had built many flets before, and did not think it would be difficult to add a roof and a door.

“Then we could have sleepovers!” he cooed. Legolas thought back to his youth, over 100 years ago, when he and Aragorn appeared the same age: about sixteen. They slept out in the woods almost every night, watching the lightening bugs and admiring the stars through the gaps in the canopy. 

“My, you have made many plans!” Thranduil said with a smile, giving Legolas a quick wink. The prince smiled at his father’s gesture. 

“Yes! Maybe we could also try sword fighting. And maybe I could use a bow! Could we try? Please could we try?”

“I suppose so.” The young Elf said with a smile, pleased that Estel wanted to try at all. His optimism was wonderfully contagious, and Legolas had caught it.

“I will warn you though, Estel, There is yet to be an archer in Middle Earth who can out-shoot Legolas.”

“Atar!” Legolas said, trying to contain his laughter. “Elladan may outdo me—”

“Maybe I will be better!” Estel chimed, extending his right arm far out in front of himself, pulling what was left of his opposite arm back near his chin, shooting an imaginary arrow with perfect aim.

“Maybe if you dropped your shoulders.” Legolas said with a grin. Over the ages, he had taught many children, both boys and girls, how to fire an arrow correctly. He had instruction down to a science, and could tell almost immediately how to fix a faulty stance. Estel laughed.

“You will teach me!” he said with a grin, “and soon I will be the best archer in all of Middle Earth!” Legolas smiled outwardly, but inwardly he was quite worried. Estel had set such a lofty goal for himself, and Legolas was unsure if it was possible for him to reach.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Legolas has an idea that may help Estel accomplish one of his dreams, and Estel hears of his father's bravery in battle.

Estel fell asleep promptly after Thranduil left his bedroom, but Legolas did not have the heart to leave. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the boy’s head, smoothing his hair back and away from his porcelain face. The likeness to Aragorn was amazing, and every time Legolas looked upon the boy, his mind flashed back to Aragorn’s youth, when he was small and Legolas was his appointed role model. Even though the age difference was great at that time, the two were still fast friends and spent a ridiculous amount of time together, climbing the trees around Imladris and shooting at the targets Legolas had placed on the dead trunks. He remembered shooting at the same time as Aragorn, to give the illusion that the boy had hit a bulls eye and that Legolas had missed.

The Elf felt hot tears sting behind his eyes, not because he was mourning, but because he was filled to the brim with so much emotion, good and ill, and it was spilling over. Of course he was distraught over the death of his best friend, but he was also honored that King Elessar had chosen him to care for his only child. There was also just a pinch of pity in the mix; pity for the boy who lay asleep on the bed, laying sprawled on his back, his hand resting across his chest, his ruined arm resting idly beside his head, flinching occasionally at some unknown, imagined force. It pained the Elf to see such a small child with such a terrible wound, knowing that he would never be able to do all of the things he wanted to do. He would never fight gallantly beside his fellow Man, he would miss out on cartwheels and hanging from trees as the other children did, and he would most certainly be called out for his misfortune. Legolas only hoped that he was strong enough to handle the offensive comments that he was sure to come across at some point.

Legolas pondered this for a while, tossing ideas around in his mind. There had to be a way to substitute a hand. He had seen it done before, either with a hook or some other apparatus, but none of those seemed quite right…Estel was too delicate, to nimble for a device such as those. Perhaps it wasn’t his body that had to be modified, but the device he was using…

The Elf stood and walked to the corner of the room where a beautiful new bow and quiver sat ready and waiting for Estel. They had been made specifically for him before Legolas knew of his injury, but now it needed modification. He flattened his lips, thinking hard for a moment, looking down at his own arms for inspiration. Sleeves, gloves…What else? What else corresponded with arms? He tightened the leather cord on the bracer around his left wrist—Bracers. That was the answer! Legolas quickly retrieved the bow, holding it carefully in his hand. 

“I will be back, iôn nín,” He said quietly to the sleeping child as he left the room.

—o0o—

Legolas ran as quickly as he could, scrambling down the staircase and out of the palace, around the gates and outer wall, and finally to one of the many royal craftsmen who made everything from spoons to clothing to bedposts. Legolas knocked on the door of an Elf called Edrahil, his most trusted blacksmith and leatherworker.

“Come in!” he shouted from inside, probably busy tending his latest work.

“Edrahil?” Legolas cooed, opening the door slowly. The older Elf turned from where he bent over the forge and bowed his head.

“Forgive me, your Highness, I was unaware—”

“There is nothing to forgive.” He replied with a smile, entering the small stone building. The air was hot and heavy inside the forge, and before long, Legolas had subconsciously pushed his sleeves up past his elbows.

“What can I do for you, your Highness?” the tall, muscular Elf asked, brushing back his dark hair, retying it in a long ponytail. He was far older and taller than Legolas, and much stronger. It was evident in his broad shoulders and powerful arms, which he used to beat everything from iron to mythril into intricate shapes, swords, nails, armor, and arrowheads. He was quite talented, and Legolas came to him whenever he needed something crafted.

“Legolas, please. I have known you far to long for formalities.” The prince smiled.

“Even so, my superior should be respected, your Highness.” He said again, looking at Legolas over his shoulder, returning the smile.

“I am in need of a very particular service…I’m not sure if it is possible, but I know that if anyone could do it, it would be you.” He approached Edrahil and showed him Estel’s strong, slender bow.

“I heard news that the child could not—”

“That’s what I need help.” Legolas broke in. He did not want to think of what the child could not do. His business now was focusing on what Estel could do…With a little help, that is. Edrahil bowed his eyebrows.

“I’m not sure I understand…”

“I need you to make some sort of apparatus that would allow Estel to hold a bow without his hand.” Legolas explained, demonstrating with his hand how one should hold the weapon. “I had an idea…I’m not sure if it would work, but I figured if it could, you would be able to do it.” Edrahil smiled at the compliment, casting his eyes down out of simple respect.

“I was thinking…” Legolas removed the leather bracer from his arm and held it up to the grip of Estel’s bow. “If this could be attached somehow, the bracer could hold the bow to his arm, but I’m not sure how…” Edrahil smiled.

“I think I can do it. I’ll have it done for tomorrow morning.” Legolas smiled and hugged the man briefly, so pleased that the child would be able to accomplish one of his dreams. He couldn’t wait to see Estel’s reaction. He would be thrilled!

“Thank you so much! I cannot thank you enough! I am truly in your debt!” Legolas exalted.

“Nay, your Highness. If it makes the boy happy, that is enough for me.” He took the bow gingerly from Legolas, placing it on his table. “Have him come when you retrieve it tomorrow. I’d like to make sure it fits him all right. And I’d like to see his reaction!”

“Of course.” Legolas said with a grin as he left the small smithy. “Thank you again, Edrahil!”

—o0o—

Legolas immediately returned to Estel’s bedroom, expecting to find the child still asleep, but this was not so. Instead, he was kneeling on his desk chair, sitting on his feet, his back to the door. He appeared very busy, working very intently on his piece. Legolas walked up behind him silently, looking over his strong shoulders at the drawing he was creating, and immediately recognized himself in the illustration, drawn in pencil, on one knee and shooting a precisely drawn bow. Besides Legolas was another figure, a small child with dark hair, watching as Legolas pulled back the arrow. The elf placed a hand slowly and gingerly on Estel’s shoulder, prompting him to turn his head and look up at Legolas.

“That is a beautiful drawing, Estel.” Legolas said, kneeling down and crossing his arms on the desk, resting his chin on his wrists.

“It doesn’t look quite right…” Estel said, inspecting his work. “Your hair is all wrong…”

“Nay!” Legolas replied, looking closely at the illustration. “If anything, your mouth is wrong. There should be a smile.” Estel grinned and dropped his pencil, giving Legolas a joking shove on the shoulder. The prince laughed, nudging the boy in return. Estel giggled high and light, like a summer breeze.

“May I draw something?” Legolas asked, taking the small wooden stool from the corner and sitting on it beside Estel.

“Yes please! Here!” the child handed Legolas a clean white piece of paper, and the Elf took a pencil and rubber from the ceramic mug on the corner of the desk. He began drawing quietly as Estel returned to his own work, being sure to give both himself and Legolas a smile. 

After a while, Estel announced that he had finished.

“Look, Atar! I’ve finished! I’ve added smiles, see?” Legolas grinned.

“It looks much better now. I quite like how my hair is blowing in the wind and how you’ve drawn your tunic.” He observed, in awe at the amazing detail the boy had included. He was truly an enigma, talented far beyond his years.

“What have you drawn?” Estel asked, peeking over to Legolas’ drawing. It was a perfect likeness of Aragorn and Arwen’s faces, together and happy, perhaps in an embrace. 

When the child said nothing, Legolas feared that he had upset him and moved to flip the paper, but Estel took the illustration before Legolas could hide it.

“That is my Papa and Mama, only Papa’s hair is not so grey.” The boy said finally, running his fingers across Aragorn’s paper face. “And he has not shaved his chin.”

“That is how I remember your Atar. That is how he looked when we traveled together. He is quite handsome, isn’t he?” Legolas said with a smile. “Your mother does not look so very different. She is just as beautiful as she was many years ago.”

“I wish I had gotten to see Papa like this…His face is much happier without the lines on his cheeks…And you’ve put a diadem in Mama’s hair…She always wore one when she was out. Papa said it made her look beautiful.” He traced his thin fingers over the thin tiara that sat just below Arwen’s hairline. Legolas was pleased when the boy smiled.

“All you have to do to see your atar is look at yourself. You are a perfect likeness of him as a child.”

“You remember when Papa was small like me?” Legolas nodded.

“When he was your age, Elrond sent him here to learn to shoot a bow.” Estel’s eyes lit up.

“Really?! Was he very good?” Legolas thought for a moment before shaking his head, no, and laughing. Estel laughed as well.

“He was quite awful in the beginning, actually. He was very stubborn, but in the end he decided to listen and learned quickly. He was very persistent in all of his endeavors.”

“Mama said Papa was very persistent too. I’d like to be persistent, but I’m not sure what ‘persistent’ is.” He admitted with a meek smile.

“Persistence is never giving up, no matter how difficult something is. I’d say you’re very persistent. I would also say that you have inherited your father’s courage.” Estel cast his eyes down and smiled to himself. “There were many times on our quest when I gave up hope because I was frightened, but your atar would not allow me to fall into despair. He would not let anyone be overcome with fear.”

“Like how?” Estel asked. Legolas stood and lifted Estel up and off of his chair, the drawing still in his hands, and sat him down on the bed. The boy sat on his pillow and placed his bear in his lap. Legolas sat on the bed as well, leaning against the footboard. 

“Did your papa ever tell you about the battle we fought together at Helms Deep?”

“That is in Rohan, right?”

“Yes. It is a marvelous fort, built into the side of a horseshoe of mountains. The fort itself is called the Hornburg, and all of the people of Edoras were hidden deep inside the mountain so that they might be safe from the army of orcs and the terrible Uruk-Hai.” Legolas began, leaning towards the boy and speaking in a low and quiet voice, as if telling an important secret. Estel leaned in as well, listening intently with bright eyes and a curious smile.

“Many of the men of Rohan were not fit for battle, and there were far too few on our side. We were only three hundred, and our enemy was near twenty thousand, I guessed.”

“Was Papa frightened?” the boy asked, snuggling his bear close to his chest.

“If he was he did not show it. I was quite frightened, though. I did not think it was possible for us to come out victorious, and I told your papa so, but he would not accept what told him. He took my shoulders in his hands and said that if we were all to die fighting to save the people of Rohan and all of Middle Earth, than we would die valiantly.”

“But how did you win? There were so few on your side.” Legolas smiled.

“Galadriel sent aid. Two thousand Elfish archers from the golden wood fought beside us, and with their help we won the day.”

“Wow…” Estel gaped, a new sense of pride blossoming in his heart. His father was a brave man; the bravest man in all of Middle Earth.

“Your papa would not allow us to give up, and we lasted through that long night and came out victorious on the other side. Never have I been so happy to see a sunrise.”

“What else did Papa do?”

“Well, just a few days after we left Lothlorien forest, we were attacked by orcs on the banks of and Anduin, and two of our friends, two halflings called Merry and Pippin, were captured. We hunted them for nearly a week, running day and night without rest or sleep, and when we discovered that the orcs that had taken them were slaughtered, we feared that they had been killed. Gimli especially wished to give up, but again your Papa shook the doubt out of us with his strong words, and we were reunited with our friends soon after.” Legolas applauded, gazing off and picturing the company as they ran through the fields of Rohan. 

“I had the best papa.” Estel said with a smile when Legolas had finished.

“You still have the best papa. He will always be with you. Men often forget that once someone passes, their spirit remains to look after you. Your mama and papa have been watching over you all this time.” Estel smiled and snuggled into Legolas’ lap.

“Now to bed. You’ve had quite an eventful day.” Legolas said, turning down the bed and fluffing the boy’s pillow. Estel slipped under his covers willingly, for he was very tired.

“Would you stay with me, Atar?” he asked quietly as Legolas turned down the flame in the lamp on the desk. He sighed heavily, quite tired himself. Though Elves did not need much sleep, Legolas had gone nearly a week without resting, readying everything for Estel’s arrival and waiting out with the guards in the flets awaiting his arrival. Even so, Legolas smiled.

“I suppose so.” He said at length. “But only for tonight. You must be brave and sleep on your own.”

“I am not afraid.” Estel clarified as Legolas retrieved a spare bed comforter from Estel’s closet and folded it on the floor. “I just want to be with you.” Legolas smiled and ran his hand through the boy’s hair before sitting on his makeshift bedroll. The boy tossed the Elf one of his many pillows and Legolas sandwiched himself in between the layers of the comforter.

“Good night, my little friend.” Legolas said in the dim light, the candle flickering in the summertime breeze that floated through the window.

“I love you, Atar.” Estel replied. Legolas was not expecting this so soon, and was a bit taken aback. Even so he smiled and replied:

“And I you.” And soon all was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like this chapter! It was fun to write about all of the memories!


	6. Estel's Surprise

Legolas woke early the next morning, as he always did, and sat up, a bit puzzled as to why he was sleeping on the floor, but looked to his left and remembered Estel. He smiled quietly and pulled himself gently onto the bed just beside the boy. He watched him sleep, finding him quite funny. 

Elves slept mostly soundly and quietly, moving very little. They were graceful even in sleep, and hardly made a sound. Estel, on the other hand, was not a very pretty sleeper. He was laying on his belly, his marred arm hanging limply off the side of his bed with the bandages still clean and white around the end. One of his knees was bent underneath him, propping his bottom half up in the air, while his other leg lay straight out behind him. His childish face was mashed against the mattress, the pillow bunched up between the headboard and the mattress, with his nose mushed into the sheets. His eyelids fluttered as he dreamed, and he snored lightly as he exhaled slowly and evenly. Color had returned to his face, and he already seemed to be faring better than he had been the previous day. 

The child’s mannerisms made the Elf smile. Even in sleep, he was so much like his father. Legolas remembered vividly the nights he stayed awake on their journey. He always kept watch after particularly exhausting days, for he did not need nearly as much sleep as the Man and the Dwarf. Occasionally Legolas would wander back to his sleeping companions, watching them closely, observing. Elves were always learning, and Legolas found the sleeping habits of mortals very interesting. Aragorn was the most entertaining, though, for he contorted himself in such strange ways, looping his arms around his lets and pressing his face against the ground and sprawling all of his limbs out every which way. Legolas always laughed when he woke up complaining of a backache because of his nighttime acrobatics. Estel slept the same way.

Legolas ran his hand through the boy’s hair as he slept, gently working out the knots and tangles with his fingers. It didn’t take long for the boy to stir, and soon his big, blue eyes—his father’s eyes—fluttered open. He smiled up at Legolas, who returned the grin.

“Did you stay with me all night?” he asked.

“I did.” Legolas answered. “I must say, your floor is most comfortable.” Estel giggled and sat up, hugging Legolas around the middle.

“But it’s so hard and flat!” he noted, looking at Legolas’ sleeping arrangements on the ground.

“But it is not as hard and lumpy as the fields of Rohan, or the tangles of roots in Fangorn forest, or the jagged stones of Moria.” Legolas said with a smile, brushing the stray pieces of dark hair out of the boy’s face.

“I wish I could go on an adventure like you. I want to save all of Middle Earth!” Legolas hugged the little boy, pulling him into his lap. The Elf couldn’t imagine that his lap was especially comfortable. He was so very thin and willowy that his knees protruded and there was little separating the bones in his legs from where Estel was sitting, but the boy seemed happy for the love. It was then that he remembered the surprise he had arranged for Estel.

“Come,” Legolas cooed, placing the child on the floor and standing, taking his hand. The boy looked up at the Elf, a glimmer of puzzlement as well as a flash of excitement in his large, luminous eyes. “I have one more gift for you.” Estel looked down and felt his face grow hot.

“I do not need another gift…you have given me far too much already. I do not want anything more. I have everything I need.”

“Well…this isn’t really another gift so much as it is an improvement for a gift you have already received. Is that alright?”

“I suppose so.” Estel said with a smile, holding the Elf’s hand.

—o0o—

Legolas brought the child out of the palace and out to the forge where Edrahil was waiting at the door, ready with Estel’s bow. The boy’s eyes brightened and he smiled.

“Good morning, Your Highness, and you as well, little Princeling.” Edrahil greeted the two. 

“It is a most lovely morning,” agreed Legolas, “have you finished the bow?” he asked.

“I did. And I see Estel is eager to try her out!”

“Yes please!” the little boy cooed. Edrahil sat down on the stone water trough just to the right of the door to be more Estel’s height, and summoned the boy closer. Estel gladly approached.

“Now let’s see…You are right handed, yes?” Estel nodded. “Good. It is a right-handed bow! Now may I have your arm?” Estel held out his complete arm and Edrahil laughed. “The other arm, please!”

“But that one isn’t very good…” Estel said.

“That’s why I’ve made you a special bow; one that you can use even with your missing hand. Don’t worry. It’s a simple thing.” Estel smiled again, gladly giving the Elf his incomplete arm. Legolas looked on over Estel’s shoulder, curious as to how the apparatus would work.

It really was a simple contraption; more or less just a leather bracer attached with a silver connection to the handle of the bow. The leather of the bracer portion was rather thick, though, meant to support the weight of the bowstring. Edrahil unlaced the bracer and slipped it carefully onto the end of the boy’s arm. He then re-laced it very lightly and tied it off.

“Is that too tight or too loose?” he asked the boy. Estel shook his head, looking only at his bow, seemingly in awe. He lifted his arm, holding the weapon out in front of himself, smiling when it did not fall.

“It’s perfect.” He said with a grin. Edrahil hurried back inside the forge and returned a moment later with a brand new quiver filled with beautiful, blue-feathered arrows. Legolas had given him his old quiver from when he was small, but this new one was far more sturdy and very beautiful. The top was brimmed in blue, and it had the boy’s name written across it in curling Tengwar letters. The roots of a beautiful white tree began at the bottom, then branched out and around in full bloom. The White Tree of Gondor.

“Here you go. Put this around your shoulders like this, and you’re ready! I expect great things from you, Estel! You have the best teacher in all of Middle Earth.” Edrahil said, fastening the leather strap around the boy’s chest and over his shoulder, holding his new quiver secure. The boy smiled.

“Thank you! This is the most beautiful gift I have ever gotten from anyone.”

“Try it out!” the Elf said, placing his hand on his knee. Estel took an arrow carefully from his quiver and notched it. He then looked to Legolas for direction.

“Pull it back to your cheek, just at the end of your jaw.” He instructed the boy. “Now look down the line of the arrow and aim for the knot in that tree. Do you see it?” Estel nodded.

“Do I let go now?”

“Drop your back shoulder. Relax, it is not meant to be strenuous.” Estel did as he was instructed. Legolas smiled, pleased that Estel was a better listener than his father. That was clearly a trait passed down from Arwen. Aragorn had no patience and heeded no direction. He never did. Now when he was little, not when he was a young man, and not even when he had grown into a king.

“Hold the bow still even after you let go, for sometimes the mind works faster than the eye, and your arrow may not have left the bow yet when you pull the bow away. Be still until you hear the arrow strike. Now you may let go.”

Estel released the bowstring, sending the arrow hurdling through the air, hitting the very edge of the knot in the tree. He lowered his bow and looked at his shot, then smiled.

“Atar I hit it!”

“You see? It is not so hard when you listen!”

“Now you shoot! I want you to hit the knot.”

“Very well.” Legolas said, drawing his own bow, which was always hung on his back, and notched it quickly and smoothly, pulling back the string and letting the arrow fly, taking hardly a second. He hit the center of the knot. Estel smiled.

“Wow! That was perfect!”

“Split the arrow, Legolas!” Edrahil said from the where he still sat on the water trough.

“I do not want to show off—”

“Please show me! I’d like to see! Please!” Estel cooed. Legolas sighed.

“Alright.” He said at last, notching another arrow, taking more time to aim than he had before. When he released the arrow, it flew straight into the previous arrow, splitting it down the middle. Estel’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened.

“I thought that only the knights in storybooks could do that!” the boy said, running up to the tree to inspect, as if wanting to prove it was true. Legolas said nothing. He felt that he should have been more humble. He did not like showing off like that, doing frivolous tricks just to show off, but he was glad that Estel seemed happy.

“Could we try on the targets out in the garden now?” Estel asked, supporting the bow with help from his right hand. Legolas nodded.

“Thank you, Edrahil!” Legolas called back.

“Yes thank you very much!” Estel said, hugging the Elf as best he could with the bow still held tight to his arm.

“You are very welcome, Estel. I’ll have mythril armor ready for you in a few days!”

“That was supposed to be a surprise!” Legolas said with a sigh and a smile. “His birthday is in three days!”

“I suppose I’ll have to make him something else to surprise him, then! Now go off to the garden! I want to see Estel split an arrow!”

“I will!” Estel said, walking beside Legolas as they made their way into the garden.


	7. of Songs and Bath Time

Legolas lead the little boy into the back gardens, through the canopy of trees that lead into a small clearing, just large enough to allow for a bit of sunlight. Most of the plants in the gardens were shade plants, very few of them with bright flowers, but very beautiful nonetheless. Estel found great interest in the curling tops of ferns that had not yet unfurled. 

He followed Legolas eagerly to the targets just past the garden pathways, all of them in a neat line on a web of ropes that hung from the trees, so that the targets might be moved closer or farther away. Many of the scouts who were not on guard were practicing with bows and arrows, and Estel was suddenly worried. Many of them hit the center of the targets consistently, and Estel had struggled to hit the large knot in the tree at all.

“Ready?” Legolas asked him with a smile, tugging on one of the ropes to bring a target closer, a system of pulleys gliding the circular bulls eye nearer to where the boy stood on the wooden platform. He nodded and smiled, excited to try on a real target, but also a bit overwhelmed and ever so slightly embarrassed. His target was far closer than the others: only about seven yards in front of him. He notched one of his arrows and pulled it back to his chin as Legolas had instructed.

“Wait.” Legolas said, crouching down, taking the boy’s back ankle in his hand. “Move this foot back just a bit…right…then turn your foot so it’s facing forward.” Estel did as he was told. “Now remember to keep your back shoulder low. Just let it relax. Remember not to move the bow until you hear the arrow hit the target. You may let go.” Estel released the arrow, sending it flying the short distance to the target, hitting the outer circle of the target.

“That was a very fair shot, Estel!” Legolas said with a smile. Estel frowned.

The target was made up of four circles: the innermost red circle, a yellow ring around that, a green ring, and finally a blue ring around the very outside. Estel had hit the middle of the blue ring, about a foot to the right of the center he wished to hit.

“Why didn’t it hit the middle?” he asked, looking up at Legolas with slight despondency.

“l thought it was a very good shot. It’s only the second time you’ve ever tried!”

“But I tried to hit the middle. Why did it hit the outside?”

“Aim a bit higher than where you mean to hit. Your bow is light; it does not take much weight to pull back the string. The arrow goes slower than it would on a heavier bow, and it will sink a bit in the air. Try again, but aim a bit higher. Just a touch.” Estel nodded and notched another arrow, aiming carefully, positioning his feet, and dropping his back shoulder as he had been taught. Legolas watched, his arms crossed lazily across his chest, his eyes bright, pleased with the boy’s regard for direction. It had taken Aragorn nearly a week to place his shoulder correctly, and longer for him to stand with his feet in the proper place. Estel had learned all that and more in under an hour.

When Estel released the arrow, he was pleased to see that it had hit the yellow ring this time, far closer to the middle. He smiled and looked to Legolas for approval, and he found it in Legolas’ grin.

“Well done, Estel! You’ve almost hit the center!”

“Do you think I’ll hit it this time?” he asked, notching another arrow.

“if you aim well and continue with correct form, you could hit the center.” Legolas said with a smile, hoping Estel wouldn’t get ahead of himself or become cocky. Aragorn was very skilled in becoming bigheaded as well. The first time he hit a bull’s eye, he became careless and could not hit another.

Unaware that many of the soldiers practicing their own shooting were watching, Estel aimed again, placing his feet correctly and holding his hand beside his chin. He looked down the shaft of the arrow and aimed it just a hair above the center. After a quick moment to make sure he was standing correctly, he released the string and pulled the bow away slowly to examine his work. The arrow had hit the very outside of the red circle at the center. 

“You’ve hit the middle!” Legolas exclaimed. Many of the soldiers and guards, who were nearby, applauded.

“Well done, Estel!” Amrod shouted.

“You’ll be better than the prince soon!” another said, smiling and clapping. Estel looked around and grinned.

“Could I try again?” he asked Legolas.

“Of course! Go on!” he answered. All sound ceased as he drew the bowstring back, planting his feet and releasing, again, hitting the edge of the red circle. He smiled again.

“I hit the middle again!” Legolas was glad for the boy’s joy. Though he had been very bright and cheerful despite his situation, Legolas hadn’t seen him this happy before. He lifted the little boy easily, spinning around and pulling him into a hug.

“My little warrior.” He said, kissing the boy’s forehead as his father had done when he was small. Legolas placed him back down onto the platform and smiled proudly. Though Estel was not really his son, he felt a deep love for the child he had never felt before, the same love he felt for his father and the rest of his family. All of the soldiers on the platform looked to each other and smiled. Legolas hadn’t been this joyous in many years.

It wasn’t that he was not happy, he was, but he was becoming a bit distant lately, minding his own business and caring little about the world around himself. He kept quiet and was often gone for days at a time, out in the woods or wandering about in other places: sitting alone on a flet or walking along the tree line, but Estel brought light back to his life. Everyone saw the way the prince smiled in the little boy’s presence, the way he spoke about the child, the way he adored Estel. It warmed the hearts of the entire kingdom to see their young prince so happy.

—o0o—

Hours later, Estel was once again in his bed, leaning against Legolas’ chest as Elrohir removed his bandages for the final time. Though it had only been about two weeks since his injury, the healing power of the Elves and his Elfish blood allowed his injury to heal completely very quickly. What was a bloodied, open wound just two days before was now smooth and healed with a white scar that already appeared years old. Estel examined his arm from Legolas’ lap, half laying down, his head on the Elf’s chest. A frown played across his face.

“It looks funny.” He said, looking to Elrohir.

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking over the wound again. “It’s closed up nicely.”

“But it looks funny. It’s just sort of…s…stumpy.” The boy said with some difficulty, as if frightened to say the words. Legolas ran his hand through the boy’s hair, combing it back off of his face when he saw the boy’s distress.

“oh…” Elrohir said after a moment, unsure of what to say. He sighed and released Estel’s marred arm, giving it a forgiving pat. “Well…There isn’t much to do for that. I’m sorry, Estel.”

“That’s alright. It isn’t your fault.” Estel said with a smile, sitting up in Legolas’ lap.

“You are such an optimistic child, Estel. You always find a way to smile even in the darkest of times.” Elrohir said as he stood. Estel snuggled up farther into Legolas’ lap. “But now that you’re all healed, I think you should take a proper bath.” Elrohir added with a smirk. Estel blushed.

“It isn’t my fault!” Estel giggled, “You wouldn’t let me out of bed until three days ago!” he laughed.

“More like you couldn’t get out of bed!” Elrohir tossed back with a chuckle. “Do you think I enjoyed scrubbing you down with soapy water and a sponge every day?”

“Uncle…!” Estel said, his cheeks turning terribly red. Legolas smiled quietly, running his hands up and down the boy’s arms soothingly.

“Oh Estel it’s alright! I was once injured in battle and wasn’t allowed out of bed for weeks!”

“I cleaned up most of Legolas more than a few times as well, Estel.” Elrohir added with a chuckle.

“what happened?” the boy asked, looking up to Legolas.

“I was shot in the back!” he lied.

“He was beat up in the street by other children.” Elrohir corrected. Elrohir was a good bit older than Legolas, and remembered when he was small, probably the equivalent of Estel’s age. The little boy laughed.

“Really?! YOU were beat up?!”

“Yes…” Legolas admitted with a sigh, but sporting a smile nonetheless, “Both my arms were broken, as well as a rib.”

“He moaned about the rib for days! He always complained.”

“I was hardly 500, Elrohir!” Legolas said in defense, but with a chuckle.

“But you were also a crybaby. You insisted your father feed you, nobody else, and every time we sat you up, you complained! ‘oh Elrohir please let me lay down again! My rib! It hurts!’” Elrohir mocked, much to Estel’s pleasure. The child was beside himself, rolling on the bed laughing. Legolas laughed as well. Elves were so long-lived that they found it easy to laugh at their past mistakes and ill luck. 

“But Elrohir, let us not forget about your mishap with the rabbit trap!” Legolas said.

“That was your fault too!” he said with a smile.

“What happened?” Estel asked again, chuckling.

“Legolas told me he caught a rabbit in a trap, but when I went to look, I got caught by the ankle and he left me swinging in the tree!”

“Was there really a rabbit?” Estel asked.

“No of course not!” Legolas answered, laughing. 

“But Legolas do not forget about your mishap in Lothlorien on the way to Imladris when you were small.”

“Do you mean when I went swimming and my mates took my clothes and left without me?” the prince laughed, remembering the prank.

“And you came back in Orophin’s cloak and Haldir’s shirt?” Estel found this simply hilarious and laughed into Legolas’ shoulder, hardly breathing. All of them were doubled over laughing.

When the laughter finally died down, Legolas stood up and carried Estel through the door in the corner to his bathroom. Elrohir held the door open for them.

“Elrohir, would you send for hot water?” Legolas asked, sitting Estel on the counter next to the sink.

“Yes of course.” He said, leaving swiftly and returning quickly with his brother, each of them carrying a handle on a tub filled with hot water. They poured the contents of the tin tub into the bath.

“That was exhausting.” Elladan said jokingly.

“Maybe if you took off your weaponry it would have been easier.”

“A warrior never leaves his arms!” Elladan replied, giving Estel a wink. The boy laughed. Elladan sat down next to Estel on the countertop. It was funny how different the two twins were. Elrohir was subdued and very mature, and Elladan was wild and overflowing with energy. Both of them were wonderful, and both of them loved each other to bits, but it was interesting how alike they looked, and yet had nothing at all in common besides their looks.

“Has our little prince been good to you, Estel?” Elladan asked. Legolas rolled his eyes. He was very young in the eyes of the Elves, and was often babied by his relatives, particularly Elladan and Elrohir. Thranduil was also quite good at embarrassing Legolas, but the prince was good at hiding his displeasure and simply laughed at himself.

“Very well. My atar has been very good to me. He made me a special bow I could shoot without my hand.” He smiled.

“I saw you shooting out on the platform at the targets today. You are a very good shot!”

“Not as good as Atar.” Estel said, smiling up at Legolas as he fetched a bar of soap. Legolas shrugged.

“No one is as good as Legolas.” Elladan added.

“I believe you could outdo me, Elladan.” Legolas said. He knew it wasn’t true, but he hated to sound proud or full of himself.

“I don’t think so, Legolas!” Elrohir said, “Elladan has been known to miss at opportune moments.”

“Alright, Elrohir, it was one deer!”

“It was hardly a meter in front of you!”

“Yes, but I was tired!”

“No, you were hung over.” Elladan had nothing to say in reply. Estel laughed again.

“Alright, you two, give Estel some privacy!” Legolas laughed, shooing them from the bathroom. Though they were almost 1000 years older than Legolas, the twins still bickered like children. “My father wanted you and your company to join him for dessert on the veranda.”

“Really?” Elladan asked. Elrohir gave him a swift kick before leaving.

“They’re funny.” Estel said as Legolas helped him remove his pale blue tunic.

“Yes. Elrohir seems so serious when he’s on his own, but when they’re together, they’re both like children!”

“They argue over such silly things!” Estel said, using his feet to take off his bottoms. 

“I’ll leave you be now, I suppose. I’ll be in my chamber—”

“No stay!” Estel said, slipping into the bubbles. Legolas turned around and leaned on the counter.

“You would like me to stay?” he asked, misunderstanding. He couldn’t imagine why the boy would want him to stay.

“Yes please…” he said, trailing off. Legolas bowed his eyebrows.

“What is wrong?” Legolas asked, crouching down beside the tub and using a tumbler to wet the boy’s hair, keeping his hand on Estel’s forehead to keep the water out of his eyes.

“um…I don’t know…Papa used to read to me while I was taking a bath…” he said quietly, holding a dollop of bubble foam in his hand and blowing on it absently. Legolas nodded.

“Would you like me to fetch a book?” Legolas asked. Estel shook his head, running his finger through the bubbles. “Would you like me to fetch you something?” Estel did nothing for a moment before looking up.

“Might I have a cup of cold water?” Legolas nodded, slipping from his seat on the countertop and filling the silver cup that resided beside the sink. He then handed it to Estel, who drank it quickly then gave it back. Legolas placed it back beside the sink then reassumed his seat on the countertop. He sat quietly for a while, allowing Estel to clean himself, but soon the silence became slightly unbearable to the Elf. Legolas was very rarely upstairs in his chambers this early in the evening, and after dinner there was usually a group singing and dancing in the ballroom, which Legolas always joined in on. He loved to sing, though he wasn’t very good at it, and quite liked dancing, though he wasn’t exactly talented in that area either. He couldn’t seem to dance with anyone without stepping on their feet, but he still enjoyed himself, though he could never seem to convince anyone, lady or otherwise, to dance with him. It was just unusual to be so quiet at such a time of evening.

After many more minutes of silence, Legolas began to sing, quietly at first, and not exactly well, but continued, growing a bit louder as he became more confident with himself. 

At first, Estel thought he was imagining the sound, as Legolas was singing to quietly, but soon he realized that the singing was not imagined, and he smiled, his arms on the edge of the tub and his head on his arms.

“You’re good at singing.” Estel said after Legolas had finished the song.

“I am not, really. Tomorrow you will hear the better singers at dinner. There is also a flutist and a harper and a rather lovely friend of mine who plays the lute.” He smiled, rubbing a bit of soap onto his hands and washing Estel’s hair.

“I think you are a good singer. All of the songs that your people sing sound so sad, though. They’re always sad and slow.”

“They may sound sad to you, but the words are not those of sorrow. Many of our songs are about springtime and kings of old and stories about the Undying Lands. Sometimes the songs are about silly things, like the ringing of bells or flower petals falling to the ground.” The Elf explained. Legolas held up a towel for the boy, who stood up and allowed himself to be wrapped up in it.

“Could you tell me the words to the song you were singing?”

 

“An Elven-maid there was of old,  
A shining star by day:  
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,  
Her shoes of silver-grey.

A star was bound upon her brows,  
A loght was on her hair  
As sun upon the golden boughs  
In Lórien the fair.

Her hair was long, her limbs were white,  
And fair she was and free;  
And in the wind she went as light  
As leaf of linden-tree.

Beside the falls of Nimrodel,  
By water clear and cool,  
Her voice as falling silver fell  
Into the shining pool.”

Legolas recited in Westron so the boy could understand.

“There is very much more, but that is all I sang. It is a long song, but I will have them sing the rest at dinner tomorrow night.”

“Okay.” The boy said sleepily, yawning as Legolas pulled the towel up over his head, like a hooded cloak. Estel laughed drowsily and Legolas helped him dress in his night things quickly so that he could go to bed.

“You may sleep in your own room tonight, if you want to…” Estel said once Legolas tucked him into bed. Though he was truthful in his words, he did seem a bit reluctant. Legolas smiled down at him, pushing his shiny wet hair off of his forehead.

“Would you like to me stay?” he asked. Estel shrugged. “Because I do not mind staying.” Legolas added, sitting down on the side of the bed.

“I would like it if you stayed…” Estel admitted after a moment.

“Than I will stay.” Legolas said with a smile, leaving briefly to ready himself for bed before returning and making himself comfortable on the floor as he had the night before.

“Atar?” Estel asked just as Legolas blew out the lamp on the desk, leaving only one candle flickering near the door on the wall.

“Yes, Estel?”

“Could you sing me another song?” Legolas thought for a moment, trying to think of a song he could sing in Westron that wasn’t about drinking, for that was all the Hobbits and Men sang of, and Elfish song did not sound quite the same when translated into the common speech. After a few long moments of thinking, Legolas sang softly:

“The road goes ever on and on,   
hill by hill and mile by mile,  
field by field and fen by fen,  
the road goes ever on and on.

See the road run past your doorstep,  
Calling for your feet to stray.  
Like a deep and rolling river,  
It will sweep them far away.

Just beyond the far horizon,  
Lies a waiting world unknown.  
Like the dawn its beauty beacons,  
With a wonder all it’s own…”

“Would you like another, Estel?” Legolas asked once he had finished, but the child was fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sort of all over the place! I had lots of ideas in a very short span of time and didn't want to forget any of them, so I mushed an entire day into just over 3000 words!
> 
> The songs are either from the books (the first one) or the musical (the song at the end) If you're unfamiliar with the musical, I seriously suggest going to look it up on youtube. It is a beautiful musical! I actually know the choreographer personally! But the songs are really beautiful. Totally worth looking up, even if you're not really into the Lord of the Rings!
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked that one. It's a little long, but I thought it was sweet! Legolas is so happy to have Estel with him! I always saw Legolas as a bit awkward and imagine him having a hard time making real friends because of his rank and his odd tendencies, so Estel sort of brought out the best in him and made him a bit more confident. At least that's what I always thought of Legolas, not that I'm complaining he was a total hottie in the movies ; ) In the books he seemed much more awkward!
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked that chapter! I'll post another one soon! Does anyone have any ideas for me? I love incorporating people's ideas!
> 
> ...I should have had Legolas sing Thrift Shop or Milkshake at the end...That would have been good...NOT!


	8. Chapter 8

The next morning, both Legolas and Estel woke early. As he had the precious morning, Legolas woke first and sat on the edge of Estel’s bed, just watching him. Legolas did not need much sleep, but he did not have the heart to leave the little boy’s bedroom after he had fallen asleep, so he lay there quietly on the floor, staring at the ceiling or closing his eyes and quietly listening to the sounds of the woods around him. He found it amazing that a being could spend so much time asleep. The little boy slept almost as often as he was awake, and Legolas found it intriguing. He remembered being fascinated with Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir, and the Hobbits’ sleep patterns on their journey as well. Legolas spent many nights wandering alone around wherever they had chosen to camp. He often found himself lingering around the many bedrolls and simply watching his companions as they slept, breathing so slowly and evenly, and twitching and tossing and turning, periodically rolling over and moving here and there. The young Elf, for he was still very young in the eyes of his people, had always been captivated by sleep, though he did so little of it himself.

He grinned as the boy’s eyes fluttered, his night’s dreams coming to an end as the sun peered through the window.

“Good morning, Estel.” Legolas said as the boy’s eyes opened slowly, blinking at the sun.

“Good morning, Adar.” He replied, sitting up and giving Legolas a hug, which he gladly returned. The Elf then stood with Estel in his arms, and started down the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Estel asked.

“Your uncle Elrohir and Elladan are leaving shortly. I thought you might like to say goodbye.”

“Yes…alright.” The child said with a reluctant smile. Legolas saw his distress and looked at him knowingly. Estel looked down.

“I am sure they would be more than happy to stay a bit longer if you so wished it.”

“No. That is okay. I want to spend more time with you.” The little boy said with a grin.

“We will do something extra fun today, just you and I.”

“Really? Could we build a flet?”

“If that is what you would like to do, that is what we will do.” Legolas answered, opening the door to the palace and out to the gates, where Elladan, Elrohir, and the rest of the company from Imladris were readying themselves to begin their journey home. Though the road was safe and well traveled, it was still a two-day journey with no rest. Thranduil was speaking with Elladan, saying their goodbyes and well wishes, as Elrohir spoke to the rest of the company concerning their road. Conversation stopped almost immediately, however, when Legolas and Estel arrived. Legolas set the child down onto the ground and he ran to Elladan, who stood next to his horse. The Elf lifted the young boy into the air and spun him around before pulling him into a hug.

“I will miss you, Little One!” Elladan said, placing Estel back onto the ground.

“Will you visit?” the little boy asked.

“Of course! Elrohir and I will come as often as we can! But do not worry. Legolas will take better care of you than anyone else in all of Middle Earth.”

“Your Papa and Mama trusted him above everyone else, even Lord Elrond. He will care for you just as carefully and with as much love as your Papa and Mama.” Elrohir added, kneeling and giving the little boy a hug.

“I know.” Estel said with a smile, pushing Elrohir’s long, straight hair behind one of his ears. Elrohir smiled, though tears sparkled in his eyes. He was reluctant to leave the child, but knew he was in the best hands possible, and that Aragorn’s final wish had been for Estel to live in the Woodland Realm. There, the boy would have a quiet, peaceful upbringing, away from the stresses and pressures of being the King of Gondor. Faramir was to take the throne until Estel was old enough to rule, if he wanted to rule at all. 

Aragorn had made it quite clear that if Estel did not want to rule, he did not have to take the crown. Aragorn had been more or less forced into the position, and though he was a wonderful King, his closest friends knew that he would have much rather remained a ranger, with the freedom to come and go as he pleased, and to keep the company he wanted instead of stuffy diplomats. Aragorn wanted his son to choose his fate instead of having it thrust upon him without any say of his own. The boy was so much like his father already that Elrohir had a feeling he would choose to stay in the Woodland Realm among the Elves.

After a long embrace, Estel retreated back to Legolas’ side. His feet were bare, so the boy decided it would be a good idea to stand on Legolas’ feet, for he wore light shoes. Legolas grabbed the boy’s hand and his left arm to keep him up and together they watched the company leave, waving and shouting their goodbyes through the gate. As Legolas walked back to the palace with his father and Estel, (who was still walking with Legolas’ feet,) they heard the horns of Rivendell, signaling their departure from the Woodland Realm. Estel looked to Legolas.

“Ready to play?” he asked with a smile.

“Nearly. I think it may be a good idea to put on some proper attire first.” Legolas gave the boy a grin, for he had something in mind to expose the child to more of the Woodland culture. Mirkwood was very different from Minas Tirith. It was a peaceful, quiet place, and not very showy. It was actually relatively difficult to tell the royal family apart from the rest of the population just by looks. Legolas was often at the border, looking out for any potential threat. He was rarely at the palace. If a visitor did not know any better, they would think Legolas another scout, and that was how the prince liked it. 

Legolas planned on giving Estel some real Woodland attire: Legolas’ own clothing from when he was small.

Legolas lead Estel back up into his bedroom, where he rummaged in the wardrobe for a few moments before finding everything he was looking for. Estel smiled brightly, sitting patiently on the bed for Legolas to come over and help him, for getting dressed and undressed with just one hand was still relatively difficult for the child. Legolas helped Estel slip off his silken tunic he wore for sleeping, and replaced it with a silvery blue tunic with mossy green hems. 

“This is very soft.” The boy said, fisting his hand around the bottom of his sleeves. “Is this all for me?” he asked, admiring the rest of the clothing that was lying on the bed beside him.

“Yes. Who else would it be for?” Legolas asked with a smile.

“You have given me so many lovely things already…”

“All of this used to be mine!”

“Really?! I am just your size, then!” Estel said with a bright smile, pleased to have something in common with the Elf. Legolas returned the grin.

“Yes. You are very nearly the same size as I was when I was small.” The Elf added as Estel kicked off his pajama bottoms and Legolas helped him replace them with a pair of deep brown leggings.

“I was wearing those when I met your father.” He remembered suddenly, his mind flashing back to his youth when he and Aragorn had first met. He had been Estel too, then, and Legolas would never forget how the child looked at him with such wonder. Legolas did not like to be looked upon in such a way when he was small, and was initially intimidated, but they became fast friends anyhow. 

Estel only nodded as Legolas took Estel’s ankle and helped him put on one of the silvery grey boots that had also been Legolas’ when he was little.

“Do those fit well? I have very thin feet.” He asked with a smile. Everything about Legolas was thin and willowy.

“Yes I quite like these.” The child answered, sliding off the bed and onto the floor, quite enjoying the light Elfish shoes. Elves treaded lightly, so there was no need for heavy shoes or ‘stomping boots’ as Legolas referred to them as. He was always reminding Gimli of his stomping boots, and how the blades of grass must be crying out in agony under his heavy steps. It was all a joke, of course, and he and Gimli laughed about it often. 

“I am very pleased. I am glad that I kept them all these years. I suppose I thought that I would have my own child, some time, but now I have you,” He smiled, pulling Estel into a hug, “And you are the best child I could have ever wished for.”

“You are the best Adar, too.”

“Nay. Aragorn was the best father you could have…”

“Yes…Papa is the best PAPA, but YOU are the best ADAR.” Estel corrected. Legolas laughed.

“Oh I understand!” he said, laughing lightly as Estel handed him a leather bracer for his arm. Legolas tied it neatly.

“Now I look just like you!” the boy chimed, looking himself over in his new attire.

“Almost…” Legolas said, looking around the room for a moment before finding what he was looking for. The Elf placed his old silver circlet onto the boy’s head. “Now you look just like me.” He smiled, noting his own circlet. 

When Legolas was little, his father had given him his old circlet from when he was a prince. It had been passed down from father to son since the beginning of the royal family, and now it was Estel’s turn to wear it. Legolas had received his father’s larger diadem, crafted with vines of silver sprouting small shining leaves. Estel’s had small springtime flowers, and Thranduil’s was large and contained golden autumn leaves, as well as little silver acorns here and there, meant to signify the seasons of the year: youth to maturity.

“But this is yours…” Estel said, moving to take it off. Legolas stilled his hand gently.

“It is far too small for me now! And anyhow, you are the new prince, so it is only proper that you should wear the prince’s crown. My adar gave it to me, and his adar gave it to him, and now I am giving it to you.”

“Really?” Estel asked with a smile, his blue eyes sparkling. “I am really the prince of the Woodland Realm?”

“I should think so! You may not be my son by blood, but you are my son in every other way.” Legolas smiled, feeling a bit strange about referring to Estel as his son. Though he had adopted the boy, Legolas was little more than a child himself, with the mannerisms and looks of someone in their early twenties. Though he was far older than twenty, and had been little more than an infant at twenty years, Elves age and mature extremely slowly.

Estel hugged Legolas around his slender middle. “Thank you.” He said into the front of the Elf’s tunic. Legolas ran his hand through the boy’s hair.

“You are most welcome, Estel. Now let’s find a suitable tree to build our flet!”

“Yes alright! Could we bring my bow and arrows too?” Estel asked, reaching for his quiver and slinging it over his shoulder before Legolas answered. The Elf laughed.

“I suppose so. Let me carry your bow, though, so it doesn’t get in your way on your arm.”

“Could I carry it on my back like you do?” he asked. Legolas nodded and hung the bow off of the quiver’s shoulder strap, how he always carried his own bow.

“There. You could be my double!” the Elf smiled as he left the room.

“Only with dark hair instead of your fair hair.” Estel chuckled.

The two made their way down the staircase and out of the palace, taking the garden path into the woods at the base of the mountain, deeper into the greenwood, away from any danger at the border. Occasionally a stray spider or occasionally a goblin would attempt to sneak past the border, and Legolas didn’t want to risk anything by bringing Estel there, even though there hadn’t been any intruders in over two years.

Estel walked slowly, looking up at all of the trees, looking for the perfect place to build his flet.

“What about here, Estel?” Legolas would say periodically, pointing up to a cluster of branches in the trees. But every time he did, Estel would shake his head and say ‘too low’ or ‘not enough leaves’ or ‘I don’t know…’ and they would continue walking. They had been combing the forest for nearly an hour, looking for the perfect tree, and Legolas was worried Estel was growing bored, but it was not so. Suddenly Estel ran off of the path, his footsteps light, like his mother’s, his hair getting caught in the underbrush, like his father’s, and stood at the bottom of a tree a few yards off of the road.

“This one is good.” He said at last, looking up at the tree. Legolas did have to admit that it was quite a good tree for a large flet, for the wide trunk split into five branches all in one place, creating a sort of basket about seven meters off the ground. It would hold a floor nicely, and could be easily hidden from prying eyes. Estel mentioned that he wished for his flet to be secret, between only him and Legolas.

“I think you have picked the perfect spot!” Legolas said, walking up silently beside the boy, his hands rested on his hipbones as he examined the tree. It was a lovely beech tree, with silvery smooth bark and shiny green leaves that glittered in the sun.

“What do we build it out of?” Estel asked. Legolas thought for a moment. He hadn’t thought of that, and looked around for inspiration. It was then that he remembered something he thought had been lost from his memory forever. 

“Come.” He said, offering Estel his hand and walking a bit farther into the forest, to the ruins of an old out building from long ago. It had been a bunker for the royal family, during the War of the Last Alliance, when the Elves and Men of the North marched against Sauron. Though Mirkwood was not yet under the influence of the dark lord at that time, Thranduil was extremely protective of his family and wanted to ensure their safety, no matter what. He had lost a son long before Legolas’ time, and vowed it would never happen again. Legolas had to plead with his father to let him go on the Quest for the Ring, and only after begging and explaining the honor it would bring to the royal family did he allow Legolas to go. Now, though, the old safe house was in disrepair, having been unnecessary for over one thousand years. Time had reclaimed the structure slowly after it had been abandoned completely just a few hundred years before, but it was about to be given new life as a flet for Estel.

The boy helped Legolas carry the lumber as best he could back to the site of his flet, and after a few trips, they had more than enough wooden boards and old nails to create a sturdy tree house.

—o0o—

“Will it have a roof?” Estel asked, looking up at Legolas as he sat on a branch high in the tree. Estel stood a plank on its end and handed it to Legolas, who nailed it to the tree with a rock.

“Would you like it to have a roof?” he asked. Estel nodded.

“Only if it isn’t too much trouble,” he said, handing up another board.

“Then it shall have a roof. No trouble at all.” He said with a smile, hammering in the final board for the floor of the flet. “Would you like to come up?” he asked. Estel nodded again enthusiastically. Legolas leapt down the branches nimbly, taking dry, dead branches and breaking them, nailing them to the tree as a makeshift ladder so Estel could climb up. He offered the boy a hand, as he was a bit frightened to climb the ladder with a missing hand, but he made it up quickly with little trouble when Legolas stood behind him. He stood on the platform.

“Wow! It’s just like the ones on the border!”

“It will be much better than those! Yours will have a door and a roof and a window. Does that sound nice?”

“Yes very nice!” the boy said, sitting down on the platform, admiring how large it was. He was not expecting the structure to be very large, but Legolas wanted only the best for Estel, and had constructed a platform in the tree that was ten feet across and twelve wide. “We could have sleepovers out here!”

“We could! Your father and I used to sleep out in the flets all the time! He was quite intrigued by the stars.” Legolas remembered, jumping down from the platform and leaning many boards up against the platform so that he could continue building, starting on the back wall.

“Papa always looked at the stars. He taught me about them.” Estel said, arranging the fallen leaves on the platform into a happy face with leafy eyes and a twig smile. “Earendil is my favorite star. I like how you can always see it. After Mama and Papa passed away, I imagine that Eaendil is them looking down and making sure I’m alright.”

“That is a wonderful way to remember them, Estel.” Legolas said, smiling down at the little boy as he continued to hammer in the walls. Estel nodded and smiled back up at the Elf, leaning back on his hand to admire his work: four faces of leaves and twigs and beechnuts.

“Those are very sweet, Estel. Is the little one meant to be you?” Legolas asked. Estel grinned.

“How did you know?!” he asked. Legolas chuckled.

“It’s quite a likeness! You’ve even put on your circlet.”

“Yes I made it out of twigs, see?” Legolas smiled and nodded.

“Who are the others? May I guess?” he asked. Estel smiled.

“Yes guess!”

“This one is me, with the long hair.” Legolas said. Estel nodded.

“I made it out of long sticks, and your pointy ears are leaves, see?” Legolas smiled.

“My ears do look like beech leaves, don’t they?” he said, subconsciously running his long fingers over the point of his right ear. “If the beech ears are elves, than this one must by Arwen.” he added, pointing to the face just next to Estel’s. The boy nodded again, adjusting the hair around the Arwen face. Her hair was made of last year’s leaves, a deep color with curled edges that framed her face just as her real hair had done.

“And if that face is Arwen, the face next to hers must be Aragorn!” Legolas said, already knowing the answer. Estel smiled.

“I made him with a scruffy chin, see? Just like your drawing, remember?” Legolas nodded.

“You’ve made him a crown as well.”

“I made it of twigs…it doesn’t look much like his real crown…It looks more like your adar’s crown!” Legolas laughed. The twiggy crown did resemble Thranduil’s.

“I think it looks very nice anyhow.” Legolas said, continuing with the wall.

—o0o—

The two were in the tree most of the day, building and talking and laughing. They shared handfuls of blackberries for lunch, and had a grand time making war paint with the dark juice. Estel also found a sort of amazement when Legolas removed his tunic and tied it around his waste around midday, for he had grown warm in the summertime heat.

“I’ve never seen an Elf without a tunic before.” Estel said. Legolas laughed.

“We are only people, Estel! We grow cold and hot and tired and lively just as you do!”

“But I’ve never seen an elf without a tunic! I thought maybe your middles were invisible.” He said. Legolas laughed again.

“Sorry to disappoint you!” Legolas said, chuckling. Estel shrugged and giggled as well, his cheeks red, a bit embarrassed, and returned to working on the flet.

Hours had passed, and finally, just as the sky was growing pink, Legolas hammered in the final nail for the roof. The little house was finally finished, and it was very lovely, with a door and a window, and even a small porch. Legolas stood back and sighed, sitting down on the floor of the flet.

“What do you think, Estel?” he asked. But there was no answer, for Estel had fallen asleep!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of my chapters seem to end with Estel falling asleep...I'll try to be more interesting next time! Writing this reminded me of my daddy and when he built my little brother and I a treehouse.


	9. Many Happenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of stuff happens in this chapter...That's all I have to say for now!

It took Estel a moment to realize where he was when he woke the next morning, but he smiled after looking around. ‘Adar finished my flet!’ he thought to himself, admiring Legolas’ handiwork. Estel was quite impressed, actually. He did not see Legolas as the handy type. He was so fair and lithe and thin, not to mention the prince, and Estel thought he would have servants to build flets for him, but he did not, and the flet he made was lovely.  
The little boy smiled when he saw the Elf fast asleep next to him, his sunshine hair pooling around his head as he lay quietly on his back. Estel had never seen an Elf sleep before. He knew that they did sleep, but only very little and very rarely. He felt odd, wrong, in a way, watching the Elf as he lay there. He wondered if anyone had seen an Elf sleep before. Perhaps he was the only one! How exciting, he thought to himself as he watched Legolas, one hand on his chest, the other stretched out slightly to one side. His tunic was bunched under his head, a makeshift pillow, and Estel could see his chest rise and fall as he breathed quietly and steadily, his mouth slightly ajar.  
Estel watched him carefully, admiring how lovely he looked. The boy found Legolas beautiful, like a colorful bird or a happy song. The Elf’s face was so smooth and white, like a china dish, and, when they were opened, his eyes were bright as the sky, blue-green like the many mosses of the forests he ruled. His hair was like golden silk, so smooth and straight and neat, held back from his face by a few simple braids, his circlet lay carefully on the floor beside him, just next to his hand.  
Estel reached up, suddenly a bit concerned, and felt his forehead for his own silver circlet, sighing in relief when he found it. He took the diadem off and admired the simple silver vines, blooming with little silver flowers here and there. He imagined Legolas wearing it when he was small. How lovely he must have looked, with his fair hair and face. Estel wondered if Legolas looked much different when he was small. Was he thin, then? Was his hair long, or was it cut short like his own? Estel’s mind wandered, thinking of himself with long, waterfall hair like Legolas’. Perhaps he would be allowed to grow his out, now that he lived with the Elves. He twirled a dark curl around his finger, just after replacing his circlet.  
The boy tried to preoccupy himself, waiting for Legolas to wake, but no matter what he did, he could not seem to keep his eyes off of the Elf. He preferred to watch him sleep than do anything else, it seemed, which Estel admitted was strange. He felt a sort of draw to the Elf, though he could not express why, even to himself. His eyes longed to watch the Elf, whether he was asleep or waking. Estel wondered if his father had felt the same way. Was that why Estel was sent to live here? Had his father admired Legolas so much that he felt the Elf would be the best one to raise the boy? It was true that Aragorn had spoken of Legolas often. Even his mother, who was completely and entirely devoted to Aragorn, admitted more that once that Legolas was indeed extremely attractive and well mannered. She had often stated that before she became acquainted with Aragorn, she had been quite taken with Legolas. Though she was older than he by many years, she always thought that he was quite handsome, even among Elves.  
Estel wondered what his life would have been like if Legolas were his real father. Would he be tall and thin, with blonde hair and blue eye instead of his stormy grey ones? Would he live forever?  
He pondered this for a moment. Between his father’s Elvin blood and his mother, he knew that his life would be long. But was he immortal? Could he live forever? He decided to ask Legolas when he awoke.   
In the mean time, Estel stretched his arms above his head and yawning. It was still early, and he really did feel like going back to sleep. He glanced back to Legolas, watching as his smooth, bare chest moved up and down, slowly and evenly, just as his father had in sleep. Estel cast his eyes down for a moment, then back up to Legolas, and after a moment of collecting his courage, he crawled across the floor of the flet and positioned himself so that his upper body was resting gently on Legolas’ torso, just how Estel had laid down with his father in front of a fire in the wintertime, or out in the grass in the summer. He closed his eyes, and hardly realized when Legolas’ eyes fluttered open. The Elf looked up, a bit puzzled, but rested his head down again and slipped his hand down Estel’s light tunic, scratching his back.  
“Good morning, Little Friend.” Legolas said quietly. “What a funny place to fall asleep!” Estel nodded with a hum of agreement, enjoying his back scratch.  
“Are you finding your flet agreeable?” the Elf asked, propping himself up and pulling Estel into his lap.  
“Yes very agreeable.” He said with a smile, pushing a bit of Legolas’ hair off of his face and behind his ear. Legolas smiled.  
“You look like you wish to say something to me.” Legolas noted, running his hand up and down Estel’s back.  
“I have a question.” The boy continued at length.  
“Yes?” Legolas said, blinking his bright eyes and slipping his tunic over his head.  
“Atar will I live forever like you will?” Legolas was taken aback. He cast his eyes down and thought for a moment. Because he had Elfish lineage on both sides of his family, he would come to a point in his life where he would have to choose, as Elrond had many ages ago.  
“When you have grown up, and when you have found somebody you love, you will have to decide whether you would like to be truly mortal, or if you would like to live eternally, as the Elves do.”  
“I think I want to live forever, like you. I do not want my children to ever live without their papa…” Estel said, twisting his hair around his finger. Legolas held him close.  
“Even if you do choose a mortal life, you will live far beyond the years of other men. You are one of the Dúnedain on your father’s side, and Elfkind on your mother’s side. Your life will be very long and happy, even if you do decide to live as a mortal man.”  
“But I want to stay with you.” He replied almost sadly, resting his head against Legolas’ chest  
“You do now, but one day, you will meet someone you love more than life itself. Then, you will want to be with them forever, even if that means that you must pass on from this world to remain together.” Legolas explained, thinking about Estel’s future. Perhaps he would choose to remain with the Elves and live out his life as a member of the Royal Family of Mirkwood. Then, he would most likely fall in love with a Wood Elf, which would most likely lead him to eternal life in Middle Earth or in the Havens. Should he choose to walk in his father’s footsteps and take the throne, his life could turn in another direction. He would meet a woman in Gondor and choose a mortal life for her.   
In his own heart, Legolas knew that wishing eternal life on the child was selfish. He loved the boy, but he knew that Estel would struggle with many things, and that eventually, life may become a bother to him. After millennia with a flaw such as his, he may feel tired and become saddened in this world. Legolas had seen it happen to many of his Elfish kin. Whether it was a physical wound caused by violence or an emotional injury caused by loss, many Elves felt that life was more of a burden then a joy, as it was supposed to be, and when this happened, they would fade.  
Legolas wanted nothing of the sort for the child. He wanted him to be happy, and if that meant choosing a mortal life, than so be it. Legolas did worry for himself, though. Even though Estel was not truly his, he feared he himself would fade when the child was gone. He decided not to linger on the thought, though, and simply decided to hug Estel instead.  
“But what if I do not want a wife?” he asked. Legolas smiled.  
“You do not enjoy the company of girls your own age?” he asked with a little laugh. Estel scrunched his nose and shook his head.  
“Girls cry and they’re mean, sometimes.” He answered.  
“Your mind will change, I’m sure! You may find Elfish girls more agreeable. They’re usually very quiet and kind. Many of them come to the palace with flowers for me. Many of them fancy me, I think.” Legolas admitted with a chuckle. Estel giggled as well.  
“Many girls fancy you, I think!”  
“And why do you think that?” Legolas asked, still laughing a bit.  
“Lots of the girls and ladies watch you when you walk down the street or around the palace.”  
“They are more interested in you than you than they are in me! Everyone here is very excited that you’re here. Many of the children here have never seen a Man.”  
“No. They are excited that you are passing them and speaking to them!” Estel answered with a smile.  
“And why would they be excited about that? I am no better than they are. I may wear a crown, but I am only an Elf, just like all of the other Elves.”  
“But you are a very nice Elf. You have a nice face.” Estel said after a moment of thinking. He wasn’t sure how to say what he wanted to say. Legolas laughed.  
“I am glad you think so, Estel!”  
“No don’t laugh!” Estel chuckled. “I mean that you are…different from the others…you look more…you look like a perfect statue or a painting.” Legolas thought on this for a moment.  
“That is a very interesting thought, Estel.” He said, standing and slipping down from the flet. Estel followed, and Legolas placed the boy on his shoulders. Together they walked back towards the palace.  
“But it is true.” The boy continued as they walked. “You do not look like the others. You are perfect.”  
“I would not say perfect, Estel! Nobody is truly flawless. Not even Elves.”  
“You are. That is why my Papa liked you so much.” Legolas cast his eyes down. Had Aragorn really thought that highly of him? Surely not. He had the chance to save the Deeping wall, but he could not shoot down the orc responsible for the blast. He was frightened before the battle of the Hornberg and wished to leave, to go back to his people. He had lost hope when Eomer stated that Merry and Pippin were probably dead. He was so terribly flawed in so many ways. Aragorn couldn’t possibly have found him so immaculately perfect. That was impossible.  
“Papa said you were brave, even when you did not want to be brave. He said that even when you thought there was no hope, you kept going anyway.” Legolas remained silent. He had nothing to say.  
“Papa said that, if he could choose for me to be just like someone, he wanted me to be just like you.”   
“I am truly flattered, Estel.” He said as humbly as he could. He did not know what to say and wanted to drop the subject. Estel seemed to get the hint and stayed quiet for a long moment.  
“Legolas?” he asked after a while of walking quietly, tracing his fingers over Legolas’ circlet as he sat on the Elf’s shoulders.  
“Yes Estel?” he answered, wondering what the boy was going to ask. Estel asked so many questions, and Legolas was always a bit fearful that he would inquire about something very personal or something difficult to answer. Legolas didn’t want to disappoint the child, but there were many things that children should not or did not need to know. He didn’t want to place a burden of information on the boy.  
“Where is your mama?” he asked, his voice so innocent and sweet, Legolas couldn’t help but smile.  
“My Nana passed from this world many years ago.”  
“Did she sail to the Undying Lands?”  
“No.” the Elf hesitated for a moment, thinking about his mother. He had only known her very briefly, but his memories were vivid, however not so lovely. “She faded…” This brought a frown to Estel’s face.  
“But why? She had you and your Adar and you must have made her so happy.” Legolas cast his eyes down. He often had the same thoughts, and often pondered why his mother faded. He knew the reason for her despair, but he did not understand why he was not enough to stop her from fading out of this world.  
“My Adar and Nana had another son before me. His name was Oropher, after my grandfather…He was slain during the Disaster of the Gladden Fields when he was very young, and my Nana never recovered from the news of his death. My Adar thought that another son would bring her joy, and so I came to be, and it helped for a while, but she could not overcome her loss. She faded when I was not much younger than you, in the Elfish equivalent, that is.” he explained, holding onto Estel’s ankles to keep him from falling, as if he might loose the child at any moment.  
After his mother’s death, Legolas had come close to fading himself. He was very little, and was still very attached to his mother, and losing her did not sit well with him. He became violently ill, just as she had before her passing, and Thranduil feared that he would lose his wife and his only son.  
When Legolas recovered, Thranduil vowed never to let anything happen to his only remaining son, and so Legolas was rarely allowed out of the palace until he was nearly grown. He had to beg and plead with his father to let him go and fight in the War for the Ring, though looking back he almost wished he hadn’t. There was so much darkness in this world, and Legolas would have rather lived his life never knowing of it. He would usually remember, then, that without the Fellowship—without him—there may be no light in the entire world ever again…and he never would have met Aragorn. Then he would never have been blessed with Estel’s company.  
Legolas owed much to Aragorn, even in death. Estel had given Legolas a reason to live again.  
After seeing Galadriel all those years ago, Legolas’ heart had ached for the sea. He longed to sail for the Undying Lands, but he knew that he could not. Not yet. He had to look after his people. He could not let his kingdom down. He could not disappoint his father.  
He had become very detached as of late, and Thranduil was beginning to worry that his son was falling into despair. He did not enjoy the company of others how he once had, and he did not find the same joy in activities that he used to love, but Estel had restored him. The child gave him a reason for living. The boy rekindled his will to live.  
“I’m sorry about your nana…” Estel said after a moment.  
“It is quite alright. I was very sad at first, and I became very ill for a while, but I am alright now.” The Elf smiled up at the boy as he played with his golden hair, twisting it this way and that.  
“Adar could you make my hair nice like yours when we get back?”  
“What do you mean, Estel? You have very lovely dark hair.”  
“But could you put it in twists and braids for me?” he asked quietly. He hated to ask for things. Even though he was royalty, Estel was always raised to be polite, and never forgot to say please and thank you to the serving staff back in Gondor. Legolas had done so much for him that he felt rather badly asking for anything more. But Legolas only smiled again.  
“Sure. You should let my Adar do it, though. He will do a much better job than I will.”  
“You have to tell him to make ours the same!” Estel cooed, getting excited. He took off Legolas’ diadem and placed it over his own head, wearing it around his neck, more as a necklace than a crown. Legolas laughed.  
“You are a funny thing, my Little Friend! You may ask him whatever you’d like.”  
“No I want you to ask.” He said quietly, bashfully, his cheeks turning red. He crossed his arms and placed them on Legolas’ head.  
“Why?” Legolas asked, slightly amused. It seemed that Estel was frightened of Thranduil.  
“I don’t want to ask him.”  
“Are you frightened?” Estel said nothing for a moment, but nodded after a moment. Legolas could feel his chin hit the top of his head.  
“Why are you frightened of my Adar?” Legolas laughed lightly, like a birdsong.  
“I am frightened that he will be scary.”  
“He is not scary, Estel!”  
“Yes he is he is very scary!” Estel insisted with a giggle.  
“He is only scary when he is angry.”  
“What if he gets angry?”  
“Estel, you do not know how much he loves you. He will never be angry with you!”  
“But I am scared anyway!”  
“All the more reason you should ask!” Legolas cooed, grabbing Estel’s middle and carrying the boy over his shoulder like a hunting prize. Estel laughed, snorting and gasping, as Legolas ran with him back to the palace, swinging him down after spinning him all around. Estel could hardly stand when Legolas placed him down in the foyer, for her was laughing far too hard. Legolas laughed as well kneeling down and pulling the boy into a hug, which he happily returned.  
“Could you ask now?” Estel gasped after catching his breath, still smiling wide, a glimmer in his bright eyes.  
“Yes come. My Adar is probably in the throne room.” Legolas said, walking across the foyer and to the large, wooden doors in the center of the wall, staircases winding up either side, creating an arch. Legolas opened the door carefully and quietly; slipping inside with Estel at his heals. The room was filled to bursting with Elves of the Realm, coming to ask for the king’s advice or his blessing, and occasionally to ask a favor. Thranduil was kind to them all, no matter what their complaint or want or need was, and he always did his best to give good council.   
Estel tugged on Legolas’ shirt, prompting him to bend down towards the boy.  
“Is this a show or a party?” he asked in a whisper. Legolas smiled.  
“Everyone has come to ask something of my Adar. People mostly wish for him to give his blessing on a marriage or to ask advice on something. Sometimes they complain.” Estel laughed. “Watch and listen! This may be your job someday!” Legolas continued quietly, not wishing for the attention to fall onto him. Nobody had noticed his presence yet, and he intended to keep it that way.  
“And what is your request?” Thranduil asked a man, sitting idly in his massive throne, one leg over one arm, his hand resting on the other. He was always smiling. Estel enjoyed how subdued and carefree the king seemed, even when in the company of his people. He sat comfortably, not properly, and he was clearly a friend to all of his subjects. He knew most of them by name.  
“Your Highness, I have come to ask your council…”  
“Yes of course.” Thranduil replied, true concern in his eyes for the distressed Elf. He sat up in his throne, more attentive of the subject at hand.  
“It is my son, sir…He has lost his wife and I fear that he may fade.” A tear came to the man’s eye, and Thranduil looked truly pained.  
“You must always remain hopeful. Do whatever it takes to bring him back and to make his life worth living again.” He began, and continued speaking with the man for some time, very quietly and relaxed. Thranduil placed a hand on the man’s shoulder briefly, and after a while, the man smiled and left the throne room, passing Legolas and Estel on the way out. He looked to the prince in shock and surprise, and looked as though he was about to shout, but Legolas placed a silencing finger over his lips and smiled. The man nodded, crouching down and saying hello to Estel before he left.

The next person in line to speak with Thranduil was a very little Elfish girl. She held a basket in her hands, and though Legolas could not see what was in it, he saw the smile on his father’s face and knew it must be something wonderful.  
“And what can I do for you, little one?” he asked joyfully, inviting her up onto the raised platform where his throne was located. She climbed up, quite excited, and sat right on Thranduil’s lap, more or less uninvited. The crowd laughed. So did the King.  
“I have a present for Prince Legolas.” She said, her cheeks flushing pink. Estel covered his mouth to hide a giggle. Legolas chuckled as well. Girls were always coming to the palace with little gifts for him: necklaces, tunics, flowers, and even a jar with a fluttering butterfly inside, its wings blue and shining.  
“He is out with Estel. I am terribly sorry. Could you give it to me? I would be happy to deliver it to the prince when he returns.” The little girl frowned and shook her head, looking as if she might cry. Estel looked up at Legolas, wondering what the prince would do. His question was soon answered.  
“I am here, Adar.” He called from the back of the room, giving a little wave of his hand to make his presence known. The crowd all turned at once to look at Legolas, like flowers turning towards the sun. Everyone roared in applause and shouts and praises, especially the little girl on Thranduil’s lap. The crowd parted, allowing Legolas to make his way up to the smaller throne beside his father’s, where he was usually seated during these sorts of gatherings. Estel followed him, and sat between the two thrones. The little girl slipped from Thranduil’s lap and scurried to Legolas, where she held out her basket for him to take. He took it from her hands carefully and gently.  
“Thank you. I am truly in your debt.” He said kindly. The little girl’s cheeks flushed pink again, and she swayed back and forth on her feet. The crowd laughed a bit again.  
“Open it!” she cooed.  
“Right now?” Legolas asked. He usually waited until the crowd had dispersed, so as not to make anyone feel badly about their gifts or lack thereof.   
“Yes please!” she pleaded, and Legolas smiled, slowly pulling back the cloth that covered the contents of the basket. Estel stood up and peeked over Legolas’ arm, smiling when he saw what was inside. He picked it up and held it in his arms.  
“It’s a puppy!” he said happily, the people in the crowd applauding and laughing.  
“What a wonderful gift, though I fear Estel may steal him from me.” Legolas said to the little girl. She smiled.  
“That’s okay.” She said, remaining on the platform as though she had more to say. Legolas grinned at her.  
“Is there anything else I can do for you, little one?” he asked. She nodded. “And what is that?” Legolas inquired. She motioned for him to come closer, as if to tell him a secret, but instead of whispering into his ear, she gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran back down into the laughing crowd. Legolas wasn’t sure what to do. That hadn’t happened to him before, so he only sat and laughed.   
Estel discreetly whispered something to Thranduil, and the king stood up, prompting everyone to be silent.  
“Forgive me, everyone, but I’m afraid you’ll have to come back tomorrow.” There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the crowd.  
“I am terribly sorry, but my grandson has asked a favor of me, and he is far too sweet to turn down, do you not agree?” everyone clapped, and Estel stood with a smile next to Thranduil, holding his puppy in his arms, keeping his flaw hidden beneath the small animal. Many of the people in the kingdom did not know of Estel’s flaw, and he did not wish for them to know, though he knew they would probably find out some time.   
Legolas stood up and politely escorted everyone out of the throne room. They left gladly and without protest, many of them pleased simply to speak with the prince. Legolas was happy that his people were content with him. Though he was young, he found that he could be very influential in the lives of his followers. He also found that, since he was so young himself, many of the younger Elves in the community looked to him as an example of how to better themselves, and in doing so, the Woodland Realm was kept peaceful and it’s youths were kept out of trouble, for the most part. It often inflicted a bit of stress on Legolas, though, for he wanted to keep up his behavior, and was frightened of making mistakes. He promised himself he would not allow Estel to live in such a way. Making mistakes was not something that should be feared, and Legolas did not want Estel to feel the way he did.  
When everyone had left and the throne room was empty, Thranduil stood up and looked down at Estel. The Elf King was extremely tall, even among his people, and Estel felt very small standing next to him. The boy ran his hand across the puppy’s back, smiling up meekly at his foster-grandfather.  
“Now what can I do for you, Estel?” he asked, bending down to reach the boy’s height. Estel shrugged and his cheeks turned a shade of pink similar to the little girl who had given Legolas a kiss.  
“He wants to ask you something, Adar.” Legolas said as he leaned against the doorway at the back of the room.  
“What, Estel? You may ask me anything!” Thranduil said with a warm smile. He really did love the little boy. Though he had hoped one day Legolas would have children of his own, Estel was a lovely addition to their little family. He saw so much of his wife in the little boy, though they had no relation; his imagination, curiosity, and even his big grey eyes were all reminiscent of Linwë, the Late Queen of Mirkwood.  
“Could you put my hair in braids?” Estel asked quietly, mumbling a bit. Thranduil smiled.  
“Yes of course. I used to braid Legolas’ hair almost every day. He can do it himself, now, though. Come, we will go to the sitting room where it is more comfortable.” The King said, taking Estel’s hand. The boy placed the puppy carefully down on the ground, and the small brown fluff followed at his heals.

Once they were in the sitting room, Thranduil sat down on the floor, his legs crossed. Estel sat down in front of him, the puppy curling up at his side. Legolas positioned himself out of the way on the sofa as his father began neatly braiding Estel’s dark, wavy hair.  
“You are quite different from Legolas, Estel.” Thranduil said, glancing up at his son. Legolas raised an eyebrow, wondering where his father was going with this.  
“He was quite wiggly when he was small, but you stay nice and still.”  
“You yanked.” Legolas said, defending himself. Thranduil laughed.  
“Never! You are far too sensitive, my Little One.” Estel smiled. Legolas called him ‘Little One’, and he was pleased that he had inherited the name. Legolas only smiled, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, idly playing with the point on the end of his ear with his fingers.  
“What are you going to call your puppy, Estel?” Thranduil asked, glancing down at the little brown dog as he slept quietly at Estel’s side.  
“I am not sure…” he admitted. “Perhaps something very Elfish. What are nice Elfish words?” he asked.  
“You know Elfish words, Estel. You can speak Quenya and Sindarin very well.” Legolas said.  
“Yes but not very nice, big words. Only regular speaking words.”  
“Legolas used to call his stuffed dog Gilthoniel.” Thranduil noted.   
“I do not want to steal that name!” Estel said with a chuckle. Legolas smiled, thinking of the little grey wolf he had slept with as a child. Gilthoniel still slept nearby, occupying the drawer in Legolas’ bedside table, but only he knew that.   
“What about Meren.” Legolas suggested.  
“That means joyous…” Estel said, more to himself, reminding himself of the language. He could speak and understand Quenya with more skill than he could speak Silvan, and Legolas was far more familiar with Silvan, and so suggested Silvan words.  
“Or Baran.” Thranduil said. Estel thought for a moment.  
“Oh, Brown!” the boy said after a moment, remembering the meaning of the word. Thranduil smiled.  
“I don’t know…I think he needs a very long, complicated name…Something very, very Elfish.”  
“Nimrodel?” Legolas suggested, “Bronwe means ‘endurance’, but it sounds a bit like ‘brown’ in the common tongue.” Legolas said, feeling very clever for thinking of a word play. Estel smiled.  
“That is a good name, I think! Bronwe!” Estel exclaimed, tugging on one of the puppy’s pointed ears, prompting him to pop up onto his feet and wag his tail. Estel laughed.


End file.
